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600055229T

HOME TEULS.

HOME TRIALS,

Br MBS. TIDAL,

AUTHOB Of "TALKS FOB THB BUSH," "CABBAMATTA ABD
WOODLBIQH FABM," " BSTHBB MXBLB ABD OTHBB

TALES," BTO.

' At mom we look, and nought la there ;

Sad dawn of cheerleaa day ;
"Who than from pining and despair

The riwvrniirift heart can stay?

" There la a stay — and we are strong
Oar Master is at hand—"

LONDON:

JOSEPH MASTERS, ALDEBS0ATE STREET,

AND NBW BOND STBEBT.

■PCCObTIII.

Z/jq , U~- . 2/4-.

liopc— yoked in tii j gentle in

HOME TR8ALS.

CHAPTEE I.

The streets looked very dismal after a day's
rain one evening in November. It was quite
pleasant to see the nimble lamplighter coming
nearer and nearer, leaving traces of his steps as
one by one the gas lights jpeeppd out. But the
lamps, though an improvement in the prospect,
only showed the pools and the mud the plainer.
There were but few passengers at any time ; and
on such an uncomfortable evening as this, scarcely
one. Here and there an errand boy might be
seen, sending his voice far before him, as he
not untunefully sang some popular air, or a
servant girl with her old-fashioned pattens and
apron turned over her head, rushed wildly out
to fasten up the shutters.

2 HOMX TRIALS.

This street of which we speak, was, if one
may say so, the " West End," or aristocratic
street in the market town of Heathercomhe.
It had a curious name too, about which an old
legend ran. "Potacre" Street had but two
shops in its whole length at this period, but it
was honoured by the vicarage standing at one
end, beside two or three other substantial, even
stately dwellings, with posts and chains before
the windows. Opposite these houses stood their
respective stables and coach-houses and gardens,
while at the back you might believe yourself far
from a town, so completely was the eye carried
from the large gardens to fields, and thence to a
wide sloping common which led to the river.

Besides these " bettermost " houses, there
were a few modest but snug dwellings.

In one of these, stands a maiden lady, peering
out anxiously yet idly over her neat white mus-
lin blind. She bids the maid once again " sweep
up the hearth and be sure that all is ready,"
and returns with an odd kind of frown to look
up the street and down the street, and observes
that the rain has ceased.

There is not much to see, but Miss Fatty-
Lee likes watching ; and besides it is too early
to light the candles. Moreover, she knows that

HOME TBIALB. 3

Mr. Carlton the Vicar, went out in the middle
of the day, and to the best of her belief, he has
not passed since. He evidently had a bad cold
yesterday in Church, and " if he had a grain of
prudence he would not be out so late on such a
damp, raw evening." But it has long been de-
cided that Mr. Carlton has no prudence at all ;
hardly common sense, (Miss Lee thinks,) al-
though he is so " uncommonly clever !" Just
as Miss Lee's thoughts arrived at this point,
who should pass the other side of the way, but
the very man P His umbrella in a sad condition ;
but in his absence of mind he actually holds it,
dripping as it is, under his arm ! Miss Lee can
hardly refrain from rapping at the window to
remind him. He is talking very eagerly to some
one — Miss Lee can't make out who, though she
wishes she could do so, for the unknown is in-
side and in the shadow. Just then, a very
brisk firm step passes close to Miss Lee, and a
merry clear whistle is heard, a sound that has
something social and cheery in it on this dismal
evening. The cheerful blaze from Miss Lee's
parlour fire acts like a magnet, and people can-
not help looking in. The whistler looks in at
the fire and on the round table where the china
tea-set stands, glittering and dancing in the fire

4 HOME TBI4XS.

glow. The old-fashioned high-backed chairs,
the sleeping cat, the very flowers on the carpet
look charming and tempting too, perhaps by
force of contrast, though there is enough of
neatness and comfort in the little low ceiled
room to attract attention on its own intrinsic
merits.

It is a young face, that which looks in so
almost wistfully, — young and comely, and as with
an involuntary shiver, he passes his keen ob-
serving eyes from the room and the fire, to the
lady in the window ; he touches his hat, with a
certain air of gallantry, and ceases that martial
air to which his footsteps keep such true time.
And Miss Lee's frown vanishes with a pleased
yet reproachful smile, and she touches the tips
of her mittened fingers, and shakes both hand
and head at him. In another moment she is
rushing wildly towards the door, but checks the
impulse, murmuring, " No— it won't do — best
not. Betsy may not like it ; folks are so ill-
natured and envious about him. But how well
looking the boy is to be sure!" And then
turning from her post of observation, Patty
Lee sinks into a chair, and for five minutes
falls into a reverie.

A sharp rat-a-tat-tat rouses her. The par-

HOME TBIAXiS. 5

lour door opens, the Utile stout rosy maid
ushers in a lady, then rushes out and puts up
her shutters — runs back again, regardless of
breath and dignity, and soon appears with a
bright copper kettle and very rosy cheeks,
while Miss Lee daintily measures out her best
Souchong from an exquisite old graven tea
shovel into the quaintest and most venerable
of silver teapots, "making believe" to scold
her guest all the time.

"It is a chilly wet evening, Patty," said her
friend, drawing in close to the fire.

" Yes, come, warm your feet, Betsy, and then
the tea will be drawn. I began to give you
up," (with a sigh.)

" Did you ? As if any weather would keep
me away on this day — your birthday— of which
I wish you many more happy returns."

This was spoken in a hearty, comfortable,
low, soft voice that would go straight to the
heart. She was plump as a well-stuffed pin-
cushion, "neat and tight." Once she had
flaxen hair, but now it was silver. Once her

*

blue eyes had been praised and toasted, and
what is moite, loved, and even now they were
tender and dewy with the kindly grace of a lov-
ing good woman's heart.

b2

6 HOME TBIALS.

A greater contrast than these two friends,
friends since they were sixteen, could not be
imagined. Patty Lee, angular, brown, stif£ yet
impulsive, jerking out her words with a sharp stab
in each ; though often her friends discovered the
undertone of a deep strong heart, amid all the
harshness. She was the sole remaining child of
an old but decayed family, whose forefathers for
many generations lay buried in the parish
churchyard. Her father had been a general
medical practitioner, scouring all the country
round in his daily visits, — loved and respected.
He worked hard, but thanks to a frugal wife,
his hoard increased. He died, leaving six
children. Only one, Fatty, remained. She
had been " reared," as she said, in a " prudent,
thrifty manner ;" now she found her yearly in-
come more than with her quiet notions she
knew how to spend. She had no near relations.
The only kinsman she had, was one she was
rather ashamed to own as such — one John
Bracy, who lived about five doors from her,
and of whom, more anon. Betsy Stafford, her
life-long Mend, like herself a spinster, and of
independent, though rather narrow means, had
not even one kinsman, " no one related or con-
nected to her," as she sometimes said, a little

HOME TBIALS. 7

sadly, " in the whole wide world ;" but never-
theless, she was "Aunt Betsy," or "Cousin
Betsy/' to a tribe of all ages, and her gentle
face lighted up pleasantly, as she remarked, " I
never need spend a lonely evening ; people are
so very kind; there are bo many welcomes
awaiting me."

"Well, I am rather chilly," Miss Stafford
allowed, as at last she drew her seat from the
blaze to the table, and helped herself to Miss
Lee's muffins. " You see it was school day, and
I got my feet wet rather ; and then old Ben is
so ill, and the Vicar so overworked ; and just
as I was going home, I met poor Grace, looking
so miserable, I could not help turning back with
her."

" I wonder when Grace will ever look other-
wise than miserable," returned Patty with a little
dry toss of her head. " In my days, girls were
content to work hard at home, and were not so
very thin-skinned ! Now, speak a word of re-
proof or even advice, and one gets tears ! Tears I
I am sick of it ; from mother to the youngest ;
while he, who ought to be the support and
master. Ah ! pshaw ! . . ."

"That's the rub; that's the misfortune,
Patty," returned her friend, with an eye brim

8 HOME TBZALS.

«

full of pity and kindly excuse for her neigh-
bour's fault. " When— excuse me, you know,
but really Mr. Bracy w very singular and rather
trying — when the head is not as one might say,
quite . . . quite fit for head, all will go wrong.
Such a clever man too — one who might take
so respectable, even a high place here, as the
Vicar remarked. I fear me, Patty, the young
ones have a hard lot there. I grieve to see
both Grace and her mother look more and more
cast down. Even the beauty Judith, even she,
smiles in a way no young girl does, who has a
happy, contented heart."

Fatty Lee heaved a long deep sigh. "It is
all humbug," she said. " Every family has its
trials, its 'skeleton' as one may say. Were
you and I, Betsy, born on a bed of rose leaves ?
Ah, no ! But the spirit to endure, the feeling
of obedience is departed, gone quite out of the
land, Betsy. I hate to hear all the complaints
all the pity bestowed on those girls. If their
father is a bit queer, and has a temper, — and —
and, in feet, if he does make them know that this
world is a place of trouble, what of it p Best
know it early. Bend the young twig the way
the wind will go, and it won't come to breaking
afterwards. As to John Bracy, I don't stand

HOME TBIALS. 9

up for him ; as I told him to his bee, I think
him a great rascal and an evil-disposed nature.
But I have no patience with his family neither ;
no, not a bit of it !"

There was a pause, and Betsy looked doubt-
fully at the fire. Presently she remarked,

" The Vicar is interested in Grace, I think ;
and how kind he is, to be sure ! He ought to
make haste and marry."

" It isn't proper as it is," Miss Patty said,
shortly.

" I don't know. You see the income is very
small, and there is so much to be done here, —
so many poor. He says if he was married, his
money and his time would be less at his dis-
posal. He is so very good. Yet I confess I
do like a married Clergyman; and I think a
Clergyman's wife may do a great deal of good.
Besides, it certainly makes it pleasanter for
some persons. But Mr. Carlton is above all
gossip. He is so true, so sincere, bo devoted."

" He is a good man, I don't doubt. But I
hate such nonsense, such palaver, such romantic
nonsense: it will come to no good, mark my
words ! setting girls to work and think so much
of themselves! Better keep them tight at
home, darning or cooking."

10 HOME TBIALS.

" I fear we can't reckon long on our Vicar,"
Betsy went on, pursuing her own thoughts.
" Every one remarks how very ill he looks ; and
his maid says his cough is bad to hear all night
long."

There was now a little break, caused by send-
ing away the tea-things; after which the two
friends drew near the fire, both with a piece of
knitting.

" I wonder who that could be who was walk-
ing with the Vicar just now," observed Patty.

" Most likely it was Mr. Bracy. I saw them
pass my window together ; and I know he — that
is, Mr. Bracy — was looking for Mr. Carlton
some time."

" Queer," said Fatty, with a little dry clear-
ing of the throat. Then the knitting-pins
worked very fast indeed. " Shouldn't wonder
if it was about Grace. Bracy is half wild about
it; and I know there was a scene the other
day: he scolding and storming, and Grace
crying ; and the mother fainted in the middle."

"Does he object to her working in the
parish?"

" Yes ; and he is partly right there too. But
still he is hard to please ; and it is shocking to
hear his language."

HOME TBIALS. 11

"Very shocking. Poor Mrs. Bracy looks
very frail and poorly, and — "

"Always piping and droning," put in Fatty,
impatiently. "Enough to stir a warm man's
blood. Such a lackadaisical, poor body, I never
saw. I don't think the girls take after her,
except, perhaps, that little Lyddy, who is always
on the fret. I know, if Judith was my child,
I'd use a rod, or lock her up! She is bold
enough for a dozen ; and Grace, though she is
quieter, has a strong, if not an obstinate will of
her own. Pooh ! I've no patience with people's
setting up to be saints, not I !"

"But you like people to try their best to
emulate saints, I am sure," said Betsy, in a
pleading tone* "But I agree with you," she
added, in a deprecating way ; " I don't like any
assumption of superiority, any implying, ' I am
better than others.' "

" Are you thinking of — How does that affair
about Harry Yane go on?" Betsy said, pre-
sently, looking up a little timidly as she spoke.

Patty gave the fire a trimming poke or two,
as if she was willing to expend some of her feel-
ings on it, before she trusted to her voice.

u Go on ? It don't go on at all. He is not
'pious/ not * devout' enough for her I Poor

12 HOME TBIALS.

lad ! of course it can end but one way. If he
takes to bad courses, I know on whose bead it
ought to fall ; and I hope it will too."

"I always wonder at her courage," Betsy
said. " Do you know, Patty, I can't help feel-
ing respect for the resolution. He is so very
winning, so handsome ; most girls would take
him. But he may be steadier; he is very
young. There is hope yet."

" There is none ! I know the spirit of that
family!" and Fatty paused, and checked a sigh.
" They are proud : he iB proud. Bejected now,
he won't stoop to clear himself, or play the re-
pentant hypocrite— not he ! But if she had
loved him, as she ought to do, if she is flesh and
blood, such a warm, loving heart as he has would
have gradually come round. He would have
made a good man. Ab it is — "

" And you don't think it dangerous to take
that for granted, even without any time for
proof? Ah, Fatty ! all the affection and love —
what is it, without something else P With the
example of her father before her, and her own
really deep principles, do you know, I can't
wonder, indeed I can't. Depend on it, it is a
hard trial to her. Her very looks show how
she feels it."

HOME TBIALS. 13

" The more the better— a little, set up, prim
humbug !"

" No, no, Patty, you are wrong. Tour love
for the lad prejudices you : it does indeed. I
am loth to say it, but indeed, indeed, I know
more than one very bad thing of him. That
last report was but too true. I saw myself — "
and here she lowered her voice to a whisper.

Fatty heard with a darkened brow, and very
grave she looked ; but she only said, sharply,

" Nonsense, Betsy ! You ought to be above
such gossip ! Besides, men will be men. It is
a bad place for a young fellow here, so watched
as he is. If you only saw him come in here as
he does, so pleasant, so boyish — ah ! I didn't
think it of you> Betsy. But that Vicar and all
these new-fangled notions, daily services and
the like, has turned you, I see. You are severe ;
but if all the world has a stone to cast on my
boy, I'll stand up for him, that I will ! Poor
Harry! poor lad!"

" Wouldn't it be good for him to get that ap-
pointment they spoke of? He is clever: idle-
ness does so much harm at his age," suggested
Betsy.

" O yes ! exile him at once ! send him off, no
matter where, among the blacks and wretches ;

o

14 HOME TBIAIiS.

and let him sin and do as he likes, and as others
do; only we shan't know it: and then he'll
return here with a fat purse, and be a worthy,
respected man! Transport him at once to
Botany Bay! If he is as bad as you make
out, he can't be far from deserving it, I am
sure!"

"Don't be angry, Fatty. Hark! what's
that ?"

"If you please, ma'am, shall I let any one
in ?" inquired the maid.

"It can only be one — Harry Vane," an-
swered Miss Fatty, resentfully. "No, Anne,
tell him I'm engaged. — Of course you won't
care to have such a — such a — "

But Miss Betsy's earnest remonstrance and
Fatty's feigned anger were useless. A loud
rapping with knuckles, and a whistle of a merry
tune, made Anne turn with a broad smile of
welcome, saying, "Oh, it is only Master
Harry !" and knowing him to be a favoured as
well as constant guest, she opened the front door.

" Why, Anne, where have you been ? Flirt-
ing at the back door, I'll wager* Woman ! are
you aware that it rains ?"

" Miss Stafford's with the missis, sir," pleaded
Anne.

HOMB TBIALS. 15

" Indeed ! I thought she'd he all alone, and
' wery melancholy ;' so I came to enliven her, d'ye
see P There, don't say I've brought any mud to
your carpets," he added, after a vigorous shoe*
rubbing, and passing his fingers through a thick
mass of curly and bright chestnut hair, with
another smile and a little twinkle in his eye at
Anne, which sent her back to her kitchen fully
convinced that a pleasanter, handsomer young
man never existed than her mistress's godson,
and deciding that all the strange stories circu-
lating in the town about his doings were the
fruits of envy and ill-nature.

" I hope I don't intrude," the new comer said
with a bow, pausing on the threshold, and look-
ing on the cosy little picture, of the two old
ladies, the cat, and the well-kept room. "I
fear I disturb important consultations. I be-
lieved to find my respected godmother alone.
Good evening, ma'am," he added, as Betsy
drew a chair, and signed for him to come
near.

Patty, meanwhile, did not find it easy to re-
cover herself. Her feelings were warm, and her
features somewhat stiff. Harry, knowing her
countenance well, guessed that something was
wrong. He put his hand — such a strong hand

16 HOME TBIALS.

— on her thin arm, and with a winning sweet-
ness, hard to resist, said,

"Come, now, what is it? See! my shoes
ain't dirty! I was a good boy, and wiped
them."

"How cold you are, Harry!" Fatty an-
swered.

" Well, I shall soon get warm here. Ah,
Aunt Betsy, if you wish to insure your life, and
your habits were known, no office would receive
you. I saw you pattering about, on such a day
as this has been."

" Weather never frightens me."

"TTmph! no. The Parson, too, is proof, it
seems, and the whole tribe of * district visitors,'
or whatever they're called. I've a great mind
to study physic, now. If things go on at this
rate, a doctor will have a good berth here in a
few years. But, I say, what treason have you
been plotting P Don't deny it : I saw by your
faces when I came in. Why, Aunt Fatty looks
guilty now even."

. " Nonsense, silly boy ! You had better not
ask about what doesn't concern you."

" How do I know it doesn't P Why, now,
I'll bet you half a pound of Souchong against a
dozen of cigars that it does concern me."

HOME TBIALS. 17

" Nonsense. Are 70a of so very much im-
portant, do 70a suppose?"

" Seems I am. Do 70a mean, that I don't
form the staple for almost all the fire-side tea-
table talk in the place ? I'm not by nature in-
clined to vanity; but if people will drag me
into a public character, why, what can a poor
fellow do ?" And he stroked his whiskers, and
put on an affected and conceited look.

" You ought to be ashamed of it, instead of
joking ! Why will you provoke people to talk by
your madcap ways P What did you do only last
Sunday P For shame, Harry I" said Miss Fatty.

" Spare me I That unlucky, confounded run-
away brute of a horse has brought me enough
into mischief. I have heard of nothing else. I
am sick of it."

" Why don't you leave it off, then ? Harry,
Harry, what are you coming to ?" said Fatty,
finding it hard to keep her face grave, as she
caught his roguish and defiant look.

"I wish I knew myself: coming to — to —
misery, perhaps! Who knows?" And a
shadow crossed his face, painful to see.

Miss Betsy shook her head, but said nothing.
Miss Fatty gave a jerk in her seat, and dropped
some stitches, while she said,

o2

18 HOME TBIALS.

"0 fie, O fie!"

For a little time silence fell on them all:
Harry biting his lips, his hands in his pockets,
and his feet on the fender. What he saw in
the red-hot coals is not known ; no pleasant
shape, certainly. But it was not his nature to
remain long in this mood ; and he soon began
stroking the cat the wrong way, in spite of
Miss Betsy's mild remonstrances.

" I won't have my cat worried, Harry !" said
Miss Fatty. " I can't think what ails the boy
to-night," she added, pettishly; for she was
provoked at his saying or doing anything which
could possibly make any one else think him
wrong. She was angry at his " letting out " in
this way before her friend. " It was so per-
verse," she thought, " at any other time when I
am alone he is so good and proper ; even reading
to me, if my eyes are weak."

As he continued to worry poor puss, Miss
Betsy tried to coax the animal to her sheltering
care, murmuring, " Poor creature I she doesn't
like it/' and so on.

" Don't you see, Miss Stafford, some folks are
perverse by nature. Now, when I find persons
shocked, and so on, I invariably go a great deal
further than I should, were I left alone,"

HOME TBIALS. 19

" You needn't boast of it, Harry," remarked
Patty.

" Some horses are easier led than driven," he
remarked.

"Sing us a song, do, Harry!" said Miss
Fatty.

" Ay, do, now ; I love a song," said Betsy.

" What shall it be ? I suppose nothing but
a hymn will go down P A ballad is profane, eh,
Aunt Patty ?"

" Sing the one about The Admiral," she an-
swered, shaking her head reprovingly too.

And after a little more talk, he gave that pa-
thetic — for so it is, if properly sung — and pretty
song; his mellow, flexible voice being as good
as his ear was correct and true. One song fol-
lowed another till they were surprised to find it
supper time.

. Harry's spirits were now in full flow, and he
kept both ladies laughing and merry, till Miss
Betsy insisted on going. Then he would see
her home, guiding her so gently and ably
through the rough and dirty pavement, that her
kind heart was quite won; and she was more
inclined that night to agree with her friend Patty,
that perhaps returned love might prove a better
guide than anything else for this wayward boy.

20 HOME TBIAXS.

But poor Harry Vane was one of those beings
who, with every loveable quality, have no self-
control. Easily led, soon tempted, he had never
learned to say, "No." After leaving Miss
Stafford at her borne, as he turned to go to his
house, he met one who might be called his
bane. A few artful and judicious words upset
poor Harry's previous resolutions ; and when at
last, after a wild night, he timidly knocked at
his father's door, a window opened, and a few
stern words informed him that " he might sleep
where he could ; he had forfeited all right to a
home there."

"Moreover," his father added, as Harry
turned away, "understand this: I don't wish
to see you again. I wash my hands of yon
from this hour. Do you hear?"

"Yes, I hear. Good-bye, then." The last
words were spoken in a forced and indifferent
manner.

The window was closed, the light soon put
out, and Harry passed away, never again to
cross the threshold as his home.

HOME TBIAL8. 21

CHAPTER H.

The Mr. Bracy mentioned in the last chapter,
lived only a few doors from Miss Lee, and, as it
has been said, he was a distant relation of hers.
His father had been a man of moderate but in-
dependent fortune, and himself had been edu-
cated at first for a doctor; but, with every
chance of a good prospect before him, he sud-
denly threw it up, got into dire disgrace while
"walking the hospitals " in Edinburgh through
his violent temper, and after some interval spent
in no improving way, he submitted to take the
place of a clerk in a bank at a neighbouring
town, where his uncle had a considerable share*
Here, too, he failed through dislike of punctu-
ality and restraint, though his abilities gained
him a good reputation. There was another idle
time, during which he fell in love with a pretty
though somewhat weak girl, daughter to a well-
to-do retired tradesman in the same town as the
bank was.

Her father would not hear of marriage till the
young man had a trade and could maintain a
wife. This induced him to try a shop ; and his

22 HOME TBIAXfl.

father was at last induced to buy him in as junior
partner to the old-established house of Pearce
and Co., henceforth to be Pearce and Bracy.
For a time all went well. Bracy could be
agreeable when he chose, and pleased the cus-
tomers as well as his partner, going regularly to
spend his Sunday with his sweetheart.

Still her father delayed consent, wishing to
prove Bracy* s steadiness. But the lover's force
of character prevailed, and he persuaded Lydia
Banks that marriage would be quite as good, if
brought about by Mr. Johns the Presbyterian
Minister, as in the old parish church by the
Rector. So one day, they managed to avoid
scrutiny, and arrived that Sunday evening at
Heathercombe, taking possession of a small
house he had rented, as man and wife. All
went well for a time ; and old Banks seeing his
son-in-law remained constant to his shop, and
that his daughter expressed becoming contrition,
but assured her father that Bracy was an ex-
cellent husband, he came round, and made them
a present of £1000.

This put the young couple into good spirits.
The business was flourishing, and Bracy's father
required nothing as repayment, merely saying,
he considered that to be his son's share of his

HOME TBIALS. 23

fortune, and should in consequence leave him no
more in his will. In after years, when the sky
was stormy, poor Lydia Bracy used to think,
if she had but waited and been married in the
church, it would have turned out better. She
was a well meaning woman, but ill taught, and
with but little moral courage or energy ; so that
when troubles came, with a young family, and
through her husband's temper, added to his
volatile mind, which never rested long in one
line, she sank at once, and in a dolorous tone of
voice was fond of warning young people to " get
married in the church, for the meeting houses
were not the same thing at all." Poor Mrs.
Bracy did not know, and had never been taught
in what they failed or differed ; but she knew
she was wrong to deceive her father : and it is
always the case, that we may trace much trial
and trouble from one false step. If we only
know little, but act up to that little, it will
lead us on in knowledge and light; but if
we are faithless, even to the teaching of our
own hearts, we get darker and darker. So
true it is, that obedience is at the root of
holiness.

Bracy had abilities which under better guid-
ance might have done himself and others good ;

24 HOME TBIALS.

as it was, they became a snare. One theory
and scheme after another arose, and not one
was worked out with perseverance, but given up
at the first difficulty, and something new took
its place. He soon got tired of his monotonous
duties in the grocery shop, and thought his ta-
lents might be better used than in weighing out
sugar and coffee, or keeping correct accounts ;
so, gradually, he deserted the shop and trusted
it to a foreman, while he worried his wife by
turning the house upside down in his experi-
ments. Now, he had discovered an entirely new
use for steam. Now, a new way of painting
wood, warranted to last for ever. Every month
some fresh plan for making a fortune, was con-
sidered infallible, while his business was neg-
lected. One success had the bad effect of so
raising his hopes, that he insisted on cutting the
shop altogether, thereby offending Mr. Pearce
and losing a considerable sum of money. After
a weary time of difficulty, disappointment, and
excitement, which very nearly brought his wife
to her death-bed, and injured his never very
good temper, he made enough money by an in-
vention in machinery, to justify him in his own
eyes in removing to a much better house, in
which he claimed all the attics for his own

HOME TEIALS. 25

work-rooms, and soon destroyed the nice garden
in building a furnace and other things, which
no one saw the use of but himself.

His wife found none of her remonstrances
any use, so she left off advising, and unfortu-
nately took to fretting and grumbling. This,
with her natural want of energy and bad ma-
nagement, and the children's disorder, soon
drove Bracy away from his home. He was
never there, except shut up in his work-room ;
and as his wild projects failed and money became
scarcer and scarcer, his temper became so violent,
that his wife grew to dread his appearance, and
the children hid away from him.

At last, when actual poverty knocked at the
door, and debts were increasing, he moodily con-
sented to try another way of business, and set
up as a " glove cutter," rather proud of proving
how soon he could learn a trade. Heathercombe
was a great place for the manufacture of gloves.
Many hundreds of women gained a livelihood
there and in the adjoining villages, by sew-
ing gloves : while the men called glove-cut-
ters drove a thriving trade, and others were
employed in "grounding," or preparing the
skins for the peculiar glove called at one time
"beaver."

26 HOME TBIAL8.

Though Bracy did not like steady work, nei-
ther did he like poverty; and having had a
pretty sharp taste of what that was, he now
with tolerable good will kept so many hours a
day regularly to his new work. He was lucky,
and for some years their income had been good.
Money fell to him also, from unexpected sources ;
some from a brother who died in America, and
again a maiden aunt left him all her savings.
Bracy grew fond of money. He gave up his
old pursuits, to a great extent ; but his wife had
no cause to rejoice. His leisure hours were not
better spent ; and many an unseemly and sad
scene took place, when he returned home of a
night, his temper ruffled by both play and drink.
It was also a matter of difficulty for Mrs. Bracy
to get money to pay for the children's schooling,
while for any work of charity she had to refuse,
or appropriate money wanted for other pur-
poses.

At the time of our story, they still occupied
the large house in Fotacre Street, with an ex-
tensive garden, never in a tidy state. Every
market day, quite a crowd might be seen round
the back door, of persons bringing back gloves
or fetching more. He had the character of
being a hard master, but that did not lessen his

H01OB TBIALS. 27

custom. His eldest son was now in the business.
There were three grown up, — John, Judith,
and Grace ; then came a lad called Bobert, in
his teens ; and then four younger girls. Four
lay buried: "A long family," as poor Mrs.
Bracy was wont to sigh out. "Poor Mro.
Bracy!" No one oyer mentioned her name
without this epithet. It was difficult to ima-
gine she could ever have been young or
pretty. "It was difficult," as Harry Vane
once said, "to imagine the sun ever to shine on
her." She was like Borne wretched plant, reared
in a cellar unhealthily, colourless, though not
actually white. Her eyes had always unshed
tears ; her hair, dry and frizzly, of a dull whity*
brown, now plentifully streaked with grey, al-
ways stood on end, with little bits of thread, or
dust, or straw, adhering to it. She grew thinner
and thinner, till her clothes looked as if a touch
would bring all down. Her feet swelled, so she
always went down at heels. Her eyes were
weak, wherefore, she was always deficient in
buttons and strings, and her fingers liked to
have a peep at the world through the gloves.
Her voice was the most pitiful sound you can
conceive,— something like, only not so musical
as, the piping of the wind through a narrow

28 HOME TBIALS.

crevice, dying away in a wail. She had bo long
been ailing and ill, that people ceased to realise
it, and now, when disease was really at work, it
was put down as "fancy," or Mrs. Bracy's
u nerves."

What could the children be, under these cir-
cumstances ? Their childhood was a perpetual
succession of illnesses. They always had severe
colds, and were always meeting with accidents.
One of them was burnt to death, and those yet
alive all bore marks of hair-breadth escape from
Borne danger. They were sworn at and scolded
by their father, and whined over by their mother.
They were always " naughty," so that they came
to believe it a word of no especial signification.
They passed through a rather rough life, and
three of them were remarked now as fine and
well-grown. Judith was more. She was a
beauty: a handsome, self-willed, haughty girl,
who rebelled against the domestic discomfort,
and had purpose and energy enough to carry
through several reforms, as far as regarded her
own particular comfort and taste. She insisted
on opening and bringing into daily use a good-
sized sitting room, from which she excluded the
"children" and which with her own hands she
kept in order. Her drawings — for she had con-

HOME TBIiXS. 29

siderable talent — hung on the walls. There
was a second-hand piano-forte : for Bracy both
loved music and understood it, and bought an
instrument as soon as his girls could learn. By
it stood a violin-case and a flute,— father and
sons both occasionally playing.

Mr. Bracy had his vanity, as well as pride*
He was proud of his name, and of tracing it
back to landed proprietors in the county. He
liked to usher a guest into a well-furnished room,
and did not grudge buying a new carpet and
sofa, when Judith returned from school with
notions somewhat raised.

John, the eldest, was sullen and reserved.
He disliked being a glove-cutter, and never quite
forgave his father for insisting on it. He was
called handsome, and was so, as far as regularity
of feature goes.

Grace was not a beauty, but was very nice-
looking. She would have been quite pretty, if
she had looked happier. But from her birth she
had been singularly grave and quiet. She was
sensitive and rather timid, inheriting some of
her father's speculative and imaginative qualities,
without his brilliant, showy talents: for Bracy
bad a wonderful power*— a quick and ready com-
prehension, with a decided gift for speech. No

d2

30 HOME TBIALS.

one could better entertain a party ; no one made
a better speech. But for a temper ever prone
to take offence and not ready to forgive, he would
have been a very popular man. As it was, the
world did not fully know what his temper was.
He kept his sunny side for strangers, and his
storms for home. Grace feared him, and early
learnt to cling to her mother. As she grew old
enough to understand things, she felt all her
mother's wrongs deeply and soon tried to help
her.

With anything like good teaching or example,
Grace would have been invaluable in that family.
As it was, her mother called her her only
and best comfort ; and it was Grace who turned
a willing and sympathising ear to her mother's
sufferings, and Grace who tried to keep the
younger ones in anything like order. But
though she tried hard, she did not succeed in
establishing any order in the household,°and her
timidity and lack of hopefulness, caused her to
give it up in despair. But she never understood
how her sister Judith could go out and enjoy
society, or whatever pleasure offered, apparently
forgetting home troubles. In Grace's ear, there
was ever the echo of a sigh and dismal intona-
tion, or her mother's weary eyes seemed to fol-

JBOMB TBIALS. 31

low her in sad reproach; or, worse still, she
shuddered at the remembrance of loud, angry
words, and violent gestures. Grace preferred
remaining at home. Her greatest treat was
listening to music, when on rare occasions a
family concert was held. She did not play much
herself, though she could sing, and when re-
quired, take her part correctly in a glee.

Her best loved of the set was the fourth child,
Robert, — yet he was a source of keen anxiety,
too : for he had a taste for getting into mischief,
and thereby offending his father, with whom he
was no favourite. Judith was generally most in
favour. Her beauty and showy attainments
pleased him ; and though they sometimes argued
and battled, in a way terrible to Grace, on the
whole Judith got on the best with her father.
Through his love for music, she could generally
" manage " him, and get him to acquiesce in her
wish for society. She knew his weak points,
too, and could work on them for her own
ends. But with all this selfishness, Judith
was the favourite of the family,— of all, save
the mother.

The young people were in a somewhat awk-
ward or undefined position with respect to their
footing in the town. Mr. Bracy, being descended

32 HOME TBIALS.

from an old family, and from his own abilities,
had made a place for himself. It was his own
fault, if he did not take part among the more
respectable inhabitants. Here he felt his wife
to be a drag ; and it had been one cause of bit-
terness between them. His cousin, Miss Lee,
visited every one ; and through her, Judith con-
trived to get a footing where she would hardly
otherwise have had one. It was her ambition
to be received as one of the "young ladies 9 '
of Heathercombe ; and a great triumph it was
when, after a hard battle at home, she managed
to gain the victory, and attend the Yeomanry
Cavalry Ball, and her hand Was sought eagerly
by the very best partners. She spent much
time in contriving to get invited by the one or
two families supposed to take the lead in the
society. She had not yet succeeded, but lived
in hopes. Though only a county town, it was
at this period, Borne twenty years since, well
stocked with inhabitants of independent means,
— such people as now would be found living at
fashionable watering-places, or abroad*

There were many excellent houses, and all
were filled. Strange to say, this place was di-
vided into parties or circles. A few individuals,
more social than fastidious, mixed equally in

HOMB TBIALS. 83

both, but otherwise they were divided into two
sets, and very often two wholly distinct parties
would go on daring the same evening. It did
not appear to lead to any bitterness or ill-will.
Precedence was naturally accorded to a few old
families, and neither the doctor's nor attorney's
wife and daughters thought of taking offence,
but enjoyed their own tea parties quite as much.
During the winter, regular assemblies were
held ; and to these any one bearing a respectable
character was admitted. Some of the county
people also attended, and, as Miss Lee observed,
"there was room enough for all, if people behaved
well and knew their places."

Now though the glove-cutting was profitable,
it was scarcely what Judith's ambition desired.
She wished to go to the balls, as her " father's
daughter," and not as "Miss Lee's pretty
cousin," she said.

This observation struck an answering chord
in the father's heart ; and one evening, being
otherwise chafed, after hearing his wife utter a
pitiful request for Judith not to be so ambitious
or upsetting them, just as things were com*
fortable, he swore that he was tired of the trade.
With his powers, he could certainly do some-
thing better than cut out gloves, or even lend

84 HOME TBIALS.

his name to the concern ; for as to the actual
work, he had long ceased to touch it. Judith
was right. He had as good a right to be an
esquire as any man there. He should either
take a farm or set up a bank. John might
keep up the present concern : as to Robert—
he was to be articled to Mr. Shaw at once.

At which threat Mrs. Bracy burst into tears,
and had to go to bed, pouring out her fears and
troubles to faithful Grace, at this new notion,
which would and must end in total ruin.

Within the last year a good deal of stir had
been made in the town, by the death of the old
Vicar and induction of a new man. The former
clergyman had been a pleasant, gentlemanly per-
son, with a handsome fortune of his own. He
was therefore able to give liberally, and was
liked by the poor. He was thought proud, and
his wife still prouder. No one was more de-
termined in keeping her visiting list select than
she had been ; and though once in the course
of two years or so, she made it a point to ac-
cept an invitation at one or two houses in the
second set, it was quite understood to be a con-
descension on her part, and received as an
honour. She did it from motives of duty, she
said, as the Vicar's wife. But gradually old dis-

HOMB TBIALS. 35

tinctions and old feelings were giving way to
new.

The present Vicar was young, and a man of
the day ; somewhat levelling perhaps, and ut-
terly ignoring all distinction of caste, visiting
both sets indiscriminately, and amused by such
petty distinctions. He had no private for-
tune, and the living was a poor one. So he
did not think of marrying, and strove to
make up by earnest and hard work for his
smaller alms. People had not quite made up
their minds about him. The old plentiful gifts
and handsome subscriptions were missed ; and
although Mr. Carlton brought new comfort to
many a hitherto unvisited sick-bed or poor err-
ing soul, not considered "respectable," I am
sorry to say many persons thought he lost dig-
nity by going so very much about the poor.

The silken robes, the silken hose, and careful
turn out of the old Vicar, and his wife's stately
appearance, and their footman and carriage-and-
pair, was something to be proud of. It carried
weight. The Lord Bishop himself dined at the
vicarage then ! Thither came the noblest and
richest in the land ! Now, only a school girl
was promoted to open the Vicar's door. There
was no carriage, not even a horse, and no dinner

36 HOME TBIALS.

parties ! The extent of Mr. Carlton's hospi-
tality was asking a few clerical friends to din-
ner and a yearly school feast, with occasional tea
drinking among those who helped him in his
parish, in which he tried to enrol both old, and
young, and middle-aged ladies; and stranger
still, — men! All this was new and strange.
People doubted and feared.

But the Vicar went quietly on his own way.
He was a man of good judgment, and knew
what he was about. He had a great stock of
patience, and could afford to wait, he said, till
he had proved himself no dangerous person,
only a hard working and poor clergyman. He
had the gift of preaching, too, which went far
to coyer his supposed defects. In this one
respect, even the staunchest supporter of the
good old way could not avoid confessing an
improvement ; for, truth to say, the late Vicar
had grown sadly dry and prosy in his old age,
and never had been particularly famous for his
sermons at any time.

At first, attracted by the novelty, the old
church was much filled ; many hitherto attend-
ing at the dissenting chapels, merely because
they liked a good preacher, came back to the
old seats in the old church. Yet, before many

HOME TRIALS. 37

months had pasBed, there was evidently a great
movement and stir among the Dissenters. Per-
haps they found it was time for them to be
awake and at work ; the easy-going time having
passed away, and this Vicar working somewhat
in their own way, by his systematic visiting and
being always at hand to exhort and to advise.
It was also whispered here and there that he
was a great reformer, and no good could come of
so many new-fangled ways, and so much of ser-
vices, teaching and education. When the fifth of
November came round, Mr. Carlton, though he
gave his pence towards a bonfire on the com-
mon, ventured to hint he thought it high time
to cease burning Guy Eawkes, and questioned
the ragged urchin, " who it was thus annually
burnt ?" Then people looked grave, and feared
Mr. Carlton was scarcely orthodox, and soon a
dreaded, dreadful word was whispered over tea-
tables, and threats were uttered of leaving the
Church, which coming to the ears of the dis-
senting ministers, they naturally made the most
of, and even preached about it on the following
Sunday.

Mr. Bracy's house being nearly opposite to
the Vicarage, tended towards his making an
early acquaintance with them. He won Mrs.

E

39 HOKE THIOLS.

Bracy's heart very soon, by his kind sympathis-
ing manner and visiting her during one of her
now frequent attacks of suffering. He thought
her very ill indeed, and it was new to this poor
woman to hear her pain allowed by any one.
He listened patiently to her long and tearful
history, and strongly advised change of air and
plenty of fresh air every day. He took pains
to draw Grace out of her retiring shyness, and
prevailed at last so for, as to get her to teach in
the Sunday school. He lent her books too, and
gave her hints as to the management of roses,
which he said if he could afford the time and
the money, he should indulge himself in ; with
Judith he made way through the medium of
musie. But she was almost offended at his pro-
position for her to help in the choir in Church.
Judith considered that a step beneath her, who
even refrained from lending her magnificent
voice, as one of the congregation. She had
some undefined notion that it was "vulgar " to
sing in Church, or to join in the responses, and
had often reprimanded Grace for doing so. She
at last succeeded in silencing her sister by calling
it " affectation," a word which often prevailed
to frighten Grace, when other arguments failed.
At first Mr. Bracy seemed to like the new

HOME TRIALS. 89

Vicar, and had even gone to Church of a morn-
ing to hear the sermon, which he praised after-
wards for its point, clear argument, and choice of
language. But ere long, Mr. Carlton offended
him in some way, and he withdrew altogether from
Church in consequence, and grumbled at Judith
for consenting to take part in a music meet-
ing Mr. Carlton wished to get up in the town.
Mrs. Bracy after this was ill at ease and timid
as to Mr. Carlton's visits to her, and much to
Grace's dislike, made many contrivances to keep
it from the father's knowledge. In one or two
public matters, it happened that Mr. Carlton
and Mr. Bracy differed, and although Mr. Carl-
ton had judged it advisable to be very cautious,
and had refrained from commenting on Bracy's
habits of life, Bracy had a misgiving about it,
and was himself conscious that it was such as
the Vicar could not approve. This served to
keep him at a distance. Every evening he
brought home some new anecdote of the Far-
son's " red hot " ways, or some bit of gossip as
to his sayings and doings. He even went so far
once, as to declare, he should forbid any mem-
ber of his family from attending a Church where
roch doctrine was preached; but as no one
breathed a word of remonstrance or even sur-

40 HOME THIALS.

prise, this threat died away, and had not been
renewed.

They even began to fancy that Mr. Bracy did
not observe, or if he observed, did not dislike,
the increasing intercourse between his family
and the Vicar. But they were mistaken. One
of Mr. Bracy's peculiarities was his aptitude for
taking strong dislikes, almost antipathies. Sad
to say, he bad done so with regard to his own
child Grace. It would almost seem as if he lost
all self-control with regard to her. Her pre-
sence in the room was a jar ; the sound of her
voice a positive annoyance. If he did not speak
it, his looks expressed but too clearly his dis-
like, and often made the poor girl shrink and
tremble, though it was only lately she had sus-
pected the truth. She had, of course, always
known she was no favourite, and meekly re-
signed any such distinction to her sister. She
never expected notice or kindness. She knew
her father's temper to be touchy and even
violent, but it was long before she saw how in-
variably it burst upon her bead. And now
suspecting it more and more, she kept it to her-
self. She would not add one drop to her mo-
ther's overflowing cup of trouble, and hoped
she had not observed it.

HOME TEIALS. 41

The mother on the other hand, prayed earn-
estly that her child might never see it in its
terrible truth and strength. She had thought
of trying to get Grace away from home, as a
teacher or governess, — anywhere to be happy ;
but it was so hard to lose this only comfort,
and Grace was so fond of home too, and so very
shy. Nor had she been to Bchool like Judith,
and though she had good sense and refined
taste, her mother judged her as inferior to
Judith, and doubted her being quite capable of
acting as governess. As her illness increased,
and she knew her days were numbered, the
poor mother looked with painful fear on thiB
child's future.

It occupied her much, but every plan failed,
till she even desired, if it could be, that her own
sorely tried and suffering life might be pro-
longed, in order to be near Grace. At one
time, brighter hopes began to spring up. She
found that in spite of Judith's monopoly of all
the notice and admiration, there was one who
appreciated her dear shy Grace. How the
mother loved him ! How she watched the rise
and progress of this attachment, and what good
hopes she built on it for Grace's future happi-
ness ! Now this was all gone. It was a sad

e 2

42 HOME TRIALS.

story, and the misery of it had considerably in-
creased Mrs. Bracy's complaint. But haying
so far described the position of the Bracy
family, with regard to their home circle, and
with respect to their neighbours, it is time to
close this chapter, and let events and people
speak for themselves.

CHAPTER III. -

" Om word, Grace ! I entreat you to hear
me, to give me a few moments ! Grace !"

Grace Bracy had taken her two younger sis-
ters for a walk, partly to please them, apd partly
to leave the house quiet for the sick mother.
She looked herself pale and weary. As she
passed through a narrow lane, shadowed by a
line of tall Scotch firs which grew out of the
hedge, she was conscious that footsteps were
somewhere near, and she turned to see ; but no
one was behind. A low spoken " Grace !" how-
ever, made her look up, and Harry Vane stood
looking over the hedge, leaning against a fir-
tree. He had been there long watching her,

HOME TBIAL8. 43

waiting to see if haply she might look that way.
She had chosen this lane for shelter from the
cold wind, and it amused the children to gather
up some of the fir cones.

But although she well knew the field belonged
to Mr. Yane, and had before now met Harry
there, waiting to join her in a walk, on this day
her eyes were not once lifted in that direction.
Slowly she paced up and down ; but when he
spoke, a bright crimson spread over her face,
and she trembled. She said " Good morning,"
and passed on. Then came that entreaty, — and
it was followed up by a desperate scrambling
jump from the field into the lane. His hand
was on her shoulder, and he bent down, deter-
mined to meet her eye. She shook her head,
but could not speak a word: as he prolonged
his reproachful but searching gaze, tears rose
and stood in her eyes.

" Tou are sorry, then ! Gome — let us have a
talk. There is no one to watch, with their
dreadful malice and slander," and he tried to
draw her hand on to his arm, but she resisted :

"No, Harry, don't!"

" I suppose I am not good enough ! Do you
think I shall pollute you if you take my arm ?"
he said, bitterly.

44 HOME TBIALS.

"I thought you were gone away!*' she pre-
sently said.

" Where P Did you really think that, Grace ?
Should I go without trying to see you P"

" I hoped so, after what has happened. Where
is the good of it P"

"You hoped so! and what has happened P
If you mean my governor shutting me out be-
cause I was rather late, you know well enough
it must hare come to that sooner or later. I
can't — no one could — stand such crabbed ty»
ranny. You needn't be shocked, Grace. I
speak out what on my soul I believe you think in
your own heart, — at least I hope you do. Yes, I
hope you are sensible that your father is not
kind : it would argue a want of proper spirit of
self-respect otherwise. Well, you can conceal
your thoughts, — I can't ; out they must come.
The fact is, my home is not particularly pleasant
to me, and every one knows yours is not to you.
Your mother has owned as much to me, and
even begged me to be kind to you, — yes, to make
her poor Grace happier than she had been.
True, I assure you ; I don't say I am one of
your pious sort : far from it. But I do say, I
like you to be so. You know I do ! You might
make what you will of me. Let us get away

HOME TRIALS. 45

out of this miserable place, where the very eyes
and tongues drive me to mischief. Let us marry,
Grace, and go to the colonies. You'll see how
I can work. Trust me, and J'll not deceive
you. Tou know I have something of my own.
It would be the nest-egg of a fortune. How
happy we should be, Grace ! Haven't I always
loved you P And once — once — you didn't dis-
like me, either. Not so very long ago, you would
not have turned down your mouth, and walked
so scornfully and coldly by my side. But — "

" I am not scornful or cold. O, you know I
am not ! You shouldn't say such untrue things,"
Grace cried out, while teara streamed down*
" I don't pretend," she went on, carried away by
pressure of long-repressed strong feeling, "I
don't, as you and Judith say, ' pretend ' to any-
thing. If I do try over and over again to be
good, and fail over and over again, it is hard to
be called a hypocrite and pretender ! I don't
mean to set myself up ! I ! who feel myself so
low — so vile — so weak !"

" Gome, come, that is regular Methodist talk I

I beg your pardon, I don't mean anything when

> I say ' pretend.' I know it is your self-control,

and because you are good, that you don't break

out as I do, and as Judith does. Why, I

46 HOME TBIAL8.

shouldn't like you if you did so ! Be gentle
and quiet as you like, my darling, only don't
cast me off!"

"But I must!" Grace leant against the
hedge, and faced him. "Harry, — once for all,
never again, — let me beg you to turn over a new
leaf— to be—"

" Steady P" he put in, « d'ye hear ! don't I
say I will ? When once you are my wife, I
shan't be so tempted."

" That won't do. Harry, if I love you ever
so much, it would be downright sin in me to
be your wife, unless I knew you were different ;
sorry for the past, and really desirous to do
better. Your wife ! What influence has a wife P
No, no ; do it for the sake of God, and because
it is right. Think no more of me ; I can't — I
dare not think of you."

u You mean to blot out my very existence,
then P By Heaven ! I can begin to fancy what
drives people to put an end to themselves!
Driven out — blotted out ! Is this your Chris-
tian's creed? Why, the very heathens are
kinder !"

He turned half away, with so gloomy and
stern a look, that it alarmed Grace. She noted
then more fully, that since she last saw him, three

HOME TBIALS. 47

days ago, lie was altered. He looked ill, hag-
gard, less cared for in dress. There was some-
thing different altogether. Surely he had felt
his father's anger, though people were talking
of his shameless indifference and reckless want
of proper affection,

" Oh, Harry !" she exclaimed, " what are you
going to do? God help you ajid me toot
What will become of us?" And the usually
composed and restrained girl now clasped her
hands with vehement gesture; then bowing
down her head, she pressed her side, as if a
sudden pain had seized her.

He walked on a step, looking on the ground.
Then he suddenly turned.

"Grace, will you or will you not? Oh, Grace!"
he added in a softened tone, again coming close,
and taking both her hands; "you can't, you
haven't the heart — you mustn't give me up.
You dare not !" he went on, consulting her face
and reading her agony. " Consider what it is
to drive a fellow to despair ! to leave him with-
out one soul to care for him in all the world !
One, too, bo weak, so easily tempted to wrong !
Why, nothing can save me ! I shall go head-
long to ruin; the Booner, the more complete,
the better, too. If I can't be good, can't be

48 HOME TBIAL8.

loved by the good, I may as well get all the
pleasure I can out of this life. Grace ! Grace !
believe me ; I have pictured to myself such a
happy home ! I will be kind to you ; I will love
you always. Don't give me up, Grace !"

She tried to speak, but no words came. Her
pale lips quivered, and her whole frame shook.
He stooped and kissed her forehead, and then
her lips, in the tenderest way.

" You are cold and shivering," he said ; " let
us move on. Yes, you must, you shall, this once,
if never again !" And he forcibly and firmly
retained her hand, and drew it on to his arm.

" Bun on, Jenny and Lydia, there are good
girls ; I want to talk to Grace," he said to the
children, as they came up, having finished their
race.

" Eace with us, Harry," said one.

" Give me a ride on your shoulder," begged
the other.

Harry was prime favourite with all children
and animals too, though he did tease Miss Lee's
cat sometimes.

"I can't, now; I must talk to Grace," he
said. " But go on, and then, perhaps, some day
I'll tell you a real secret ;" and laughing and
pleased, they ran on, though casting a backward

HOME TBIALS. 49

look to find out what Grace could be crying for,
and what made Harry look so " funny/'

" I must not wait long. It is time to return,"
Grace said, little above a whisper.

u You shall go, directly you have said three
words. Say, C I will marry you, Harry/ which
is five, but no matter. You see, Grace, things
have reached a point now. I am not sorry.
Beally, I don't mean to be wrong in saying so.
I am sorry I vexed the old man so. But I can't
waste any more words, even if he would believe
them. Deeds, not words. Heaven knows if
Hell is really paved with resolutions broken ; I
have had my share in the work ! But I don't
mean to do so again. I've been thinking, and I
believe my best way will be to go first to some
large town and pick up a little knowledge there,
which will give you time, you understand, to
make ready. Then your Mend, the Vicar, will
marry us. We are both of age, or rather you
will be in a month, so we can dispense with
consent, you see. Then, Grace, we take our
passage to Canada or Australia, whichever you
prefer. This time twelvemonth we shall be
regular Darby and Joan, — as happy as possible.
Bo you see ? — do you hear, Grace ?"

"Yes, I hear."

r

50 HOKE TBIALS.

"And you agree P You must say it is a good
plan."

"Yes, very good for you. Follow it, Harry.
G-od grant you success and keep you from — evil.
But — I can't be your wife."

" You must. Grace, don't try me, don't tor-
ment me. I can't say more, can I P"

"No. Say no more. It adds to the pain.
I can say no more, either."

" Grace ! Grace ! do you wish to send me
straight to perdition."

" Harry, I will not listen to such dreadful
words !"

"And what are the words to the fact — the
reality? Consider it. You, who read your
Bible, ought to know what is said of that place,
where sinners, such as I am or shall be, will go,
— at least if priests say truly ! Do you wish to
help me to go there : for that must be your in-
tention by speaking so. I tell you, it rests
with you, whether I am saved or lost !"

" God forgive him !" she exclaimed in horror.
" Harry, let me go. Is this a way to induce me
to bind myself to you P You show me by each
word how entirely you are without love or even
fear of the Almighty God, and yet you expect
me to promise to be your wife. Didn't I warn

HOME TBIALS. 61

you long, long ago ? Didn't mother tell yon
what would happen ? Didn't you promise to
give up such company, to work and be steady,
and haven't you quite lately done . . ? O, Harry,
I hardly know what you have done. I only
know it is something so very bad that even men
are afraid to speak out before me. The whole
town talks of you. You defy opinion; you
wilfully obtrude your sins, where others at
least hide them, and you don't even seem sorry.
I should sin too, if I promised to love and obey
you ; I should sin against God. We are told
to hate sin, to abhor evil, and hard, hard as it
is, I must learn to— not to love you any more
till yon repent. O, Harry !"

"'Twill be no very difficult task," he said
angrily. " Thank you, at all events, for plain
speaking; you have some spirit, after all,
Grace. Yes, take away your arm. I beg your
pardon for taking it, and more so still, for dar-
ing to kiss you. So they can't even ' speak '
of my sin. Do they know what it is ? Blind
fools ; sneering, white-washed humbugs ! Con-
demning a fellow first — never even hearing him
speak. I could tell you ; but no — it is not for
your ears. I am bad enough it is true, but
not all you imagine perhaps, Grace. Well,

52 HOME TRIALS.

well, let it be. Give a dog a bad name, Ac.
I shall soon be clear of it all. Aunt Patty will
think of the prodigal, the dreadful sinner yet ;
at least, if they don't succeed in convincing
her at last. When she gives me up, it is all
over with me. Well, good morning; we shall
scarcely meet again ; — may you be happy. Per-
haps in my shanty in Canada forests, I shall see
in a stray newspaper your marriage. You are
coming out I see, breaking your shell. Should
not wonder if the Eev. Saintly Vicar himself
thought you'd' be a good she-curate! Good
notion that — accounts for your bitterness."

" You will be sorry one day. Good-bye !" she
said in a low tremulous voice, which in spite of
the evil spirit within him, caused his heart to
jump.

" Sorry P" he cried out in a loud shrill tone.
" Sorry ! why should I be sorry 1 No, glad,
rejoicing. I mean to cast care and sorrow to
the wind. Henceforth I'm up to any thing ; a
free and independent citizen of the world ; no
ties bind me. The world lies before me. Hurrah,
hurrah !"

And he wildly threw up his cap in the air. His
curls were caught by the wind ; his eyes shone ;
she thought he had lost his senses ; she trembled

HOME TBIAIiS. 63

bo that she could scarcely drag on her feet ; she
yearned even then to throw herself on his neck,
and promise to love him ; she did love him, bet-
ter than anything else in the world. But from
early childhood, Grace had been religiously im-
pressed, and lately vague feelings of awe and
searching for truth had taken shape and form,
and reduced itself to practice. Her progress
had been slow and unmarked by others, but it
was sure. She had long feared Harry's want
of principle, but tried to believe her mother's
charitable version, and to look for improvement.
Startling reports had lately been about ; terrible
accusations, and now these were, as it seemed,
confirmed by his father's turning him out. An
only boy ; the apple of the stern old man's eye
too.

Grace had to act for herself. Her father had
stormed, and swore he would not consent to re-
ceive such a * blackguard as his son-in-law;"
but the mother could not believe it was so bad,
and Judith laughed her sister's scruples to
scorn ; while Miss Lee was indignant and se-
Tere, and plainly told Grace she might save
Harry if she would.

Severe had been the struggle ; bitter was the
hour ; bitterer even than she had ever fancied

r2

54 HOME TBIALS.

beforehand, for she could better have borne to
part had he been in sorrow, or even anger — but
to mock, to insult her . . . !

There he was singing and whistling and toss-
ing up his cap. She looked wistfully at him ;
his slight, active, manly figure, that handsome
head, and bright sunny hair; his voice too;
those songs, and his winning way. She sprang
back with sudden impulse.

"Harry, say good-bye kindly; look at me
once, once more."

He turned quickly, and looked keenly at her ;
perhaps she was relenting? But no, he too
well understood her face. He retired a step,
folded his arms on his chest, and made a sweep-
ing low bow, then whistling turned away,
climbed the hedge, and was gone.

The children exclaimed at his broken promise.

" Broken, broken, all is broken, even my poor
heart," Grace murmured to herself.

Repeating these words, she walked on like
one staggered, and the children looked fright-
ened and kept behind. They reached home
without meeting any one. Judith was on the
stairs, smiling she said,

" O, you are just too late ; Miss Lee has been
here. She ought to have acted in tragedy.

HOME TBIAXS. 55

Quite a scene it was; quite beyond my poor
power of rendering again to you, though I am
requested to repeat her words. She says . . . ."

c< Not now — not now," Grace cried out, and
Judith, utterly surprised at this unwonted wild-
ness, stepped aside to let her pass. But Grace's
foot tripped, and she could not recover her ba-
lance; she fell backwards, her head striking
against the banister. She lay without motion
and the blood flowed from her face. Judith
screamed, and the little girls who were coming
up stairs, screamed too.

The noise brought down Mr. Bracy from his
work-room, disturbed in the middle of a diffi-
cult calculation. Mrs. Bracy awoke from a nap,
and rushed out too. Seeing her lifeless, bleed-
ing child, she fell into hysterics.

" Get out of the way, Judith ; attend to your
mother, children ; send Jane for the doctor!"
said Mr. Bracy. " A pretty piece of work is
this," he said, laying Grace on a bed. " I always
knew she would come to some confounded mis-
chief with her humbugging visiting the poor,
and preaching and praying, growing uglier and
paler every day. My Gob ! is she dead indeed I"

And the violent man felt a thrill of some-
thing more than fear, as he sought and felt for

56 HOME TBIALS.

her pulse, and gently smoothed back her hair
to find where the blow was.

Grace was not dead, though in the first fright
and hurry, a report got about that she was.
The doctor said it was a narrow escape ; an inch
further and it must have been fetal ; as it was,
he feared a concussion. The blood was caused
by her teeth cutting her lip severely.

Unconscious, save of pain, which she seemed
to feel by her low unceasing groans, poor Grace
lay, pallid as the pillow coyer. Bitter tears
were shed over her by her sick mother, who
persisted in sitting by her, though not able to
do more than hold her hand. The little girls
told how Grace had cried, and how funnily she
talked and looked, and something of the truth
was thus surmised.

Mr. Bracy came in that night, and spoke of
that reprobate Harry Vane's getting royally
drunk, and behaving in so mad a way, that a
constable was called in to frighten him."

"Hush — not so loud. Poor Grace— poor
child," said the mother.

"Nonsense; she doesn't hear; and if she
does, all the better. It is time her eyes were
opened."

" If it had pleased the Lord to take her, per-

HOME TBIALS. 57

haps it would have been happier ! Poor child —
what trouble lies before her. Yet how could
I spare her ?" sighed Mrs. Bracy, as she watched
by her daughter's side.

Judith's better feelings were roused, and she
exerted herself to keep the little ones quiet in
one room. But being alone with her father,
she felt more of his temper than generally came
upon her. She began to think Grace of more
importance and use than she ever before be-
lieved, for Judith in her heart rather looked
down on her sister. John was more morose
and silent than ever, after uttering a few bitter
words about Grace's worth coming out now she
was dying; and Robert got terrible scoldings
from his father, and frightened Judith by' his
wild practical jokes. He. brought news at
breakfast the next morning, that Harry Vane
had cut his throat in a tipsy fit, after wandering
up and down the street all night. Luckily, he
had not succeeded further than giving himself
*& ugly gash. People said all sorts of things
about him. One report was, he was going to
marry mad Bessy, a half-witted but handsome
girl, of no great repute. Another was, that his
father was going to place him in a lunatic asy-
lum. None of these stories were true entirely,

58 HOME TEIALS.

nor sooth to say without a slender founda-
tion ; and no one knew exactly where he was.

At the end of a week from this accident,
Grace still lying dangerously ill, Miss Lee was
considerably startled, just as she was about to
leave her parlour for the night, by a low tap on
the shutter. " Thieves," was her first thought.
" No, but a sweetheart of Anne's/' the second,
and Miss Patty prepared herself to greet the
visitor with wrath and dignity. A hollow voice
startled her. She did not recognize it till a
hand was laid on her shoulder, — " Tell me how
she is ; is she fdive or dead ?"

" Harry, is it you ? Where are you P Where
have you been? Gome in directly, I insist.
You are ill. Poor ill-used boy !"

" How is Grace P"

" Well, no better ; very bad, they say."

u I murdered her."

" For pity's sake don't stand there, looking
like— like— "

"Like Cain!" he interrupted, bitterly, but
obeying her desire by stepping within the
passage.

" My goodness me ! I do believe the world
is gone mad!" exclaimed Miss Lee. "Every
one has taken to exaggeration, and acting tra-

SOME TBIALS. 59

gedy. No common-sense to be found. Gome
in and warm yourself. Luckily, the fire is not
oat! You shall sleep here; the spare bed is
aired. Pray, Harry, don't look so wild ! You
actually horrify me !"

" No wonder ! I have no business here. I
am an outcast* No wonder. Aunt Patty, if you
are scared ; that is, if all that is said of me is
true ;" and he laughed, mockingly.

"As if I believed it!" Miss Lee indignantly re-*
joined. " No* Harry, I shall never hearken to ill-
natured talk. I know too well what it is. Poor
boy ! you have done it, certainly ! How came
you to drive your father to such extremity ?"

"The last grain of sand weighs down the
beast, they say. 1 did no more than I have
done scores of times, shame on me. But he
took to threatening, and altogether I was at
bay— desperate ! Yet, that evening — did I look
so very bad ? I did intend going home in good
time, and being a good boy. Unluckily — for I
am an unlucky dog — I met a fellow who has, I
find now, too late, had a design in tempting me
astray. Like a fool, I took the bait, and re-
turned with him, — did no particular harm, but
did not return till morning, and then — then —
Well I you know the rest."

60 HOME TRIALS.

" Poop boy ! It was foolish, though, Harry !
And then, Grace Bracy, — what about her ? She
tumbled down stairs, so their own maid told me,
and has concussion. She is but a puny creature.
Why you are to come in for blame there, I can't
tell !"

" I wish I could say so ! No, Aunt Patty, she
drove me mad and I made her mad. I thought
she would stumble and fall : for I watched her,
though she did not know it. I wished she would
fall, — I would have picked her up ; but she got
on out of my sight, and reached home. Answer
me truly — is she going to die ?"

"Not a bit of it! Doctors always talk of
danger, you know, to increase their skill. It
suits the public to make up a romance. But
people don't often die of a fall down two stairs.
Harry! I am vexed, provoked with her, but I
really think it is all for the best. She would
never suit you ! Look at her mother ! Why,
Grace was made in the same mould! Now,
Judith has more stuff in her. She is something
to look at. With all her pride and temper, I
should rather have fallen in love with her. She,
I hear, upholds you, and blames Grace. The
fact is, Grace's head is turned by the Vicar.
She sets up for a model, and, in my opinion, she

HOME TBIALS. 61

will end in a convent. Think no more of her,
my boy. Now I'll go and see about your bed."

Miss Lee left Harry stooping over the fire :
his hat still on his head. She groaned, as she
went up stairs, at his miserable face, and was*
angry with the whole world. No one under-
stood that boy. Every one attacked him ! No
mother, and a father cased in armour, — rigid and
puritanical ; with no knowledge of the world, —
a severe, harsh taskmaster, rather than a ten-
der father !"

How Miss Patty Lee pulled about the bed
things, smoothed the pillows, drew the curtains,
and did her best to give it a comfortable look :
wishing in her warm heart to compensate to her
darling for all his trouble. He should have a
home with her. She was sure he had too good
a heart to go altogether wrong."

At last she went down again, — but Harry was
not there. " He is somewhere in the house,"
she thought, " and will be back again. He has
let the fire quite out, thoughtless boy !" After
a few moments, she looked about to see if every-
thing was right for the night. A piece of paper,
looking like a hastily-folded note, lay on the
table. Miss Lee took it up. It was a note,
written in pencil, and it was Harry's writing.

G

62 home tmaib.

" Dsab Atot Patty,

''God bless you for your kindness. I
shall never forget it. You welcomed the out-
cast when every other door was shut on him !
But I can't stay here. I am off to a new country.
Only I can't leave this land until I know her
fate. So, if you love me, write to me the truth at

the following address I shall there await

certain tidings, whether it be life or death, and
I shall meanwhile prepare for my new life. Try
to believe me, though very good for nothjng,
" Tour grateful and loving • boy,'

" H. V."

Then Miss Fatty sat down and cried. She
had not done such a thing for the last twenty
years. Tears do not come readily with some
persons, and others have a power of bidding
them not flow ; and then they go back like a
dead, iron weight on the heart, and the counte-
nance grows rigid, like a land lacking dew and
rain*

Fatty cried now till her head ached, and she
was shivered and sick. Then, she rose up slowly,
and went to her own room. For two days no
one, not even Miss Stafford, gained admittance ;
and nothing poor Anne could cook and serve up

HOME TBIAL8. 63

was eaten. Everything was neglected, and
Patty sat erect in her chair, pale and still, like
one in a dream. On the third day, she ordered
dinner, and made a regular busy day of it, — rum-
maging out old stores and hidden corners, and
alarming Anne, by making a bonfire of a heap
of old letters. When her friends saw her again,
they found no difference, except that she was
rather more tart and abrupt than ever. Every
day she sent her compliments, and begged to
know how Miss Grace Braoy was. At last, the
answer was, "better, and likely to recover."
On which, Miss Fatty Lee said, " Just like her
mother ! Making a fuss, and not dying, after
all !" She wrote to Harry by that post, assur-
ing him that Grace was getting well, and that,
as she always guessed, it was " much ado about
nothing." She advised him to go at once and
begin his new life ; wished him well, and begged
him to write to her. She also enclosed a present
of a £50 note, " for although he had money of
his own, young folks find more ways of spending
than old."

64 HOME TBIALS.

CHAPTEE IV.

It was drawing near to Christmas. The first
time Grace ventured to say the service on a
Sunday at home, she found to her surprise it
was the last Sunday in Advent. The last few
weeks had been like a dream to her. She was
now quite out of danger, but sadly frail and
weak. Her mother, on the contrary, seemed to
have derived new strength from the call made
on her. She looked better, and even happier.
But the disease which sooner or later would de-
stroy life, still existed. For it there was no cure ;
though freedom from all agitation and anxiety
would tend to prolong life. Her father had died
of disease in the heart, and she knew it might
be her lot also. But although she had always
moaned very much over small ailments, she
showed a quiet and enduring courage in facing
this decree. Her whole heart seemed now to
be bound up in Grace. For her, she exerted
herself even to try and be cheerful. For the
first time in her life, she rejoiced over and ad-
mired the hot-house flowers intermixed with
evergreens, which kind friends sent for Grace,

HOME TBIALS. 65

and when the poor girl smiled faintly, and
touched them, with a tender look, the mother
smiled too. They were much together, and
perhaps that quiet time was the most free from
trouble and worry they had ever known. But
though Grace improved in strength, and gained
more appetite, her spirits did not return. She
would sit for hours looking at the fire, motion-
less, with a very sad, hopeless look, unless she
knew her mother was watching her, and then
the forced smile was a piteous sight.

The Vicar had often been with her in her ill-
ness. He, one day, broke the subject, and kindly
and briefly expressed his sympathy, as well as his
cordial approval of her conduct with respect to
Harry Vane.

" You think it was right then, sir ?"
"Surely — without believing all the stories
afloat about the unhappy young man, there
is enough to my knowledge to forbid any wo-
man from giving him her love. Women do
a great deal of injury by passing over sin, and
calling it wildness, youthful folly, or other ex-
tenuating names. If they had courage and
principle to control their love, and refuse a man
of this character, it would tend to lessen the
evil. Unhappily, a winning manner and amiable

g2

1

66 HOME TBIAL8.

temper, or even an excess of manly spirit, is
allowed to blind the eyes and wins over really
good women to call evil good. What is the
necessary consequence P Her own standard
must be lowered, or her heart ache because she
loves what the Almighty hates."

"But cannot a person— a man alter and
mend ?" Grace timidly asked.

" Surely yes. God forbid I should say other-
wise. But let the penitence and amendment
be proved and accomplished beforehand. Let
no girl hope to draw a man from evil ways as
his wife. How often the experiment has failed.
It is unnatural. For the wife ought to look up
to her husband. The reverse cannot be a happy
marriage."

Grace sighed heavily. Presently she observed,
" He had no mother ; she died at his birth."

" So I understand. Poor fellow ; he may do
well yet. I did not know him myself, for he
avoided me pointedly ; but I am glad he is gone
to Australia ; he had a poor chance here. There
it is more easy for him to begin afresh. De-
pend on it, Grace, he will remember your sac-
rifice to principle and respect you for it. It
may, by God's blessing, be partly the means of
drawing him to a better mind."

HOME TBIALS. 67

"No — he thought me cold and fickle and
cowardly. No — I have not — I never can do
him any good : yet I hope, I hope, I was right.
I try to think so, hut, Mr. Carlton, my friends
blame me. No one but yourself thinks me right.
If he does get worse ; if anything happens to
him, how can I bear it ?"

There was such pain in her voice and look,
such sad fear and trouble in her very posture,
that Mr. Carlton pitied her more than he could
say. He offered to read, and after that, he
contrived to draw her into a faint degree of in*
terest in parish work.

" Her only hope lies in work — work, drawing
her out of herself," he said, as he thought over
his visit again in the quiet of his study.

Meanwhile Judith had not lost her wish or
her hope, of inducing her father to give up his
glove cutting business, and embarking in some
other mode of employment; if indeed his in-
come was not sufficient without it being neces-
sary for him to work at all. She and Mr.
Bracy calculated and planned, during the time
they were left together and the mother was
with Grace. Mr. Bracy had nearly settled to
purchase a small estate about two miles from
the town. The house was small, but would do.

68 HOME TBIALS.

It might with a little planting and cutting down
and paint, be made a pretty country residence.
The farm was good, and just sufficient to give
employment, and not lead to ruin. John was
to carry on their present business as a partner.
It was too lucrative to be entirely given up.
Their present house could be let, all but the
workshop and a room for John.

Mr. Bracy did not think of consulting or even
telling either wife or son about this. He was
naturally fond of power, and this was a tempting
opportunity of proving himself sole master and
arbiter. When the deed was done, he informed
his wife he intended removing to the Gross
Farm at Lady-day. She was alarmed and hurt,
but consoled a little by finding Grace light up
and talk of country life, and the pretty wood
which surrounded the new place.

On Christmas-day Grace joined the party at
dinner : it bid fair to be a pleasanter gathering
than usual. Mr. Bracy was in his best humour,
and Judith extremely gratified and pleased, not
only at the prospect of the new house, but at a
curious event which had just occurred to her.
The person who was most generally looked up
to in the town was a certain widow lady, of
rather large fortune. Not only was she one of
an old and respected Heathercombe family, but

HOME TBIALS. 69

her own peculiar character and her marriage
had also tended to make her in a small way-
queen of the place.

She was liberal and generous in an almost
princely degree. She had been a celebrated
beauty, and even now, in her age, preserved the
remainB of attractions not common. Her eye
was formed to command, as well as to melt and
win. Her manner was singularly sincere. She
could be loving and tender ; she could also awe
weaker spirits by her severe satire and down-
right strong will. She had no children, but
filled her beautiful house with nieces and other
young people. She patronised all gaiety, and
kept up a succession of dinner-parties.

All the great folks visited Mrs. Eberley ; but
she was not at all exclusive in her ideas. She
spurned the notion of the two sets, and went
herself as she pleased and when she pleased.
It rather pleased her to invite people who did
not visit, and in her imperious way command
them to be agreeable and sociable. There was
one sure passport to her favour, — one charm
that could hide many defects, — and that was
beauty. She was kind to the plain, but she
showed them her pity; and all her charm of
manner and her brightest welcome was for the
handsome.

70 HOKE TBIALS.

There had been a discussion about Judith
Bracy: some rather blaming her friends for
bringing her out at the balls ; others thinking
it very hard on the girl to be excluded. Mrs.
Eberley heard, but said nothing. One day,
however, she chanced to be in a shop at the
same time as Judith. "When the girl left, Mrs.
Eberley asked who it was. " Miss Bracy ! why
she is the belle of the county — a queen of
beauty — the very style I most admire. So they
look down on her, do they? No doubt the
Greens, with their pug noBes, are afraid of her.
But I will bring her out ! I will make Judith
Bracy the fashion, or I am no longer Mrs.
Eberley of the Hall !"

Thus spoke the proud old lady to her con-
fidante, Miss Felham ; who, however, ventured
to hint, " it might not be for the girl's happi-
ness to bring her out of her own station."

But Mrs. Eberley would not hear of this.
" What was her station P Bracy was a good old
name. The man made the profession, and there
was no need to include the whole family ; but
to hide such beauty was cruel. She might make
a good match."

" Miss Lee did take her out once or twice/'
Miss Felham said; "but after the first time

HOME TBIALS. 71

she had not danced much. Some of the gentle-
men had held back, on account of the brother."

" "Well, I shall see : whoever does not dance
with Miss Bracy, shall never enter my house
again I" said Mrs. Eberley ; and she forthwith
commanded Miss Felham to go to the Bracys,
and leave Mrs. Eberley's card, with an invita-
tion to a quadrille party for the following week.
She would make a party on purpose. She would
see who would dare to oppose any introduction
she chose to make.

Judith was greatly pleased at this visit. Her
father too was proud and gratified. Mrs. Bracy
observed she thought that poor Grace ought to
go too, and no sooner said so than she repented;
for it brought such a scornful and angry look
on the poor girl from her father.

This prospect made Judith's bright eyes
sparkle pleasantly on Christmas-day. Certainly,
she looked very handsome in her new warm
plaid dress, and a sprig of holly placed in her
black hair. She and Eobert laughed and joked ;
and on the whole the dinner went off smoothly,
every one too busy to talk much. Mrs. Bracy's
cheeks grew redder and redder with her nervous
anxiety. Once Lydia's tears burst out, at a
very rough reprimand from her father, and a

72 HOME TBIALS.

threat she should be sent to bed. John, too,
always silent, seemed to his mother's anxious
eyes more reserved than ever; and Grace looked
fagged and weary.

But at last all the dangers were over: the
pudding turned out well and properly cooked,
to the mistress's intense relief; for she well
knew that any defect would cloud the rest of
the evening. The cloth was cleared away, and
they all drew round the fire to enjoy the treat
of a dessert. Mr. Bracy filled his wife's glass,
and then remarked, with the pleasure of mys-
tery,

" Well, this is the last Christmas we spend in
this house. By the way, I have a toast to pro-
pose. Come, Mrs. Bracy, my future partner
and manager of the business, Mr. John Bracy."

All eyes were of course turned to John.
What they saw there caused surprise, and even
alarm. His pale face seemed to be clouded
over with an ashy grey hue ; his deep dark eyes
looked as if kindled into a blaze. He leant
back in his chair, placing his hand firmly on his
knees. There was a pause. No one spoke, no
one sipped the wine. They expected him to
speak, and to speak loudly and angrily too. At
last it came, low as a whisper, clear as a bell.

HOME TBIALS. 78

" Since you have touched on this subject, sir,
I may as well say now what I should say some
other time, though I would not myself have
chosen this moment. I don't pretend any sur-
prise. Though you have not done me the
honour of consulting — of * consulting ' me," he
repeated, with a stress on the word as he caught
a contemptuous expression of his father's, " your
intentions have reached my ears. I have indeed
heard it from several quarters; besides that,
being neither blind, nor deaf, nor very slow of
comprehension, my own observation would have
informed me. You are, of course, at liberty to
act as you think fit. I hope it will answer,
though it seems rather like giving up a certainty
for a mere speculation . But for my own proposed
share in this plan, I beg distinctly to refuse
working any longer at the business, either as
hitherto without fixed wages, or as working
partner. I thank you for your liberal proposal,
but decline it."

He ceased speaking, deliberately sipped his
wine, and then drew out his handkerchief and
passed it across his brow.

A fearful oath broke the silence. Mr. Bracy,
with fury and wrath in every feature and every
limb, rose, and stood fronting the semicircle,

H

74 HOMB TBIAX8.

with his back to the fire. He looked all round
on the eager, frightened, and surprised faces,
and paused when he came to his wife.

" There, Lydia ; I hope you have heard him !
That is the fruit of your teaching, the reward a
man gets for Betting up a child in the world !
A pretty set, truly. Verily, children are a
blessing !"

Then, turning to John, with another string of
words which made Grace cower and tremble, he
said,

" You shall work at that, or you Bhall leave
my roof, and never see a penny of mine : no,
not even if you should die of want !"

" I don't apprehend such a catastrophe,'* John
observed, in that cool, quiet tone most exaspe-
rating to one in a passion.

" Hold your tongue, and don't interrupt me,
sir ! You ought to be horsewhipped round the
town. HI — HI — And pray, what is your reason
for this act of rank insolent rebellion, this idiotic
folly P Eh, sir P"

" That I am not bound to give. But since
you are so kindly interested, sir, in the matter, I
will say, that it is because I dislike the employ-
ment, and always have disliked it, and feel my-
self capable of better things. It is profitable,

HOME TBIALS. 75

very. It will be a considerable loss to your in-
come if it is given up. Why not let Bobert
take it, sir ?"

"No, not at your suggestion! And why
Bhould Bobert take it, seeing he dislikes it as
much as you do ?"

" And why is the younger to be preferred to
the elder ?" said John more vehemently. " "Why
is he to follow his inclinations, and be made a
gentleman, while the eldest son is forced into
a trade he dislikes, in which there is no scope
for his talents, against his will ; kept down too,
dependent for every penny, till he is nearly
twenty-four P I say again — I protest against
the injustice and tyranny! I will break the
bond ! I am free now and henceforth !"

" Eree to go to the devil !"

"No, sir ; my conscience and my taste forbid
that road. I have however arranged my plans,
as silently and as surely as you have yours;
more silently, since no one knows but the one
friend, who assists me."

" John — think, consider !" pleaded his mother,
in her old weak wail.

" Mother, I have thought and considered for

years. ,f
"Pray, Lydia, don't interfere, but let the

76 HOME TBI ALB.

fool go his own way," put in Mr. Bracy. "I've
done with him. To-morrow I will receive the
books, sir; mind, I find them correct to the
uttermost farthing ; and then you may go. This
is the last night you pass under my roof."

" Last night was that, sir," said John rising.
" I shall return to give up your books and the
keys, and I will trouble you no longer with my
presence. I will say good-bye now — now, this
moment, sir. * Fool !' you say. Look at this,"
he said, throwing off his cold and measured
manner, and pointing eagerly to his broad and
marked brow. " That is no fool's forehead.
Tou may learn yet to retract your words. It
may chance yet that on me rests the responsi-
bility of keeping up the family honour and
name. Mother," he added, in a gentler tone,
" Don't cry, don't fret ; I am going to make my
fortune in another country. I have agreed to
join a friend. True, I have no money, not a
shilling, but I bring brains, strength, and
energy. In that he feels I am richer than he
is. He supplies the cash. Good-bye, mo-
ther."

But she clung to him, sobbing and wailing,
and entreating him to wait till she was in her
grave.

HOMJB TBIALS.

77

"Who is it? Who is this friend, John ? Is
it .... ?"

"It is Harry Vane," John said.

This brought a fresh burst of anger from Mr.
Bracy. "A nice choice; the greatest black-
guard in the county ! A nice pair ! And so I
am to understand, that the rascal, instead of being
on the high seas, as I was given to understand,
is yet here, sneaking about. I suppose you know
something of this plot?" he said, turning to
Grace. " I have a great mind to send you off
too. This is your ' strong mind,' your * excel*
lent conduct !' "

" Father, I never heard of the scheme. I did
not know he was here," Grace said.

" No, sir, Grace knows nothing of it, nor de-
serves to. She may find too late what she has
lost. Happy would it be for her, if she was
going as his wife. Harry has had his faults,
but he would never be unkind to his wife," said
John.

Mr. Bracy here ordered the younger children
to go to bed at once, and uttering some coarse
angry words against sobs and tears, he left the
room, and soon his steps were heard as he
passed the window.

Mrs. Bracy went off into hysterics ; Judith

h2

78 HOME TEIALS.

followed the crying children up stairs ; Eobert
yawned, and said "It was quite a play, — but he
was sleepy." He stretched himself out on the
floor and shut his eyes. John made signs for
Grace to see to her mother, and quietly slipped
away. Thus ended the Bracys' Christmas
dinner.

Mrs. Bracy did not leave her bed on the next
day. She moaned and wished they were all
dead and at rest. Grace made great exertions
to keep up, and succeeded pretty well. Mr.
Bracy was very angry for some days, and then
seemed to drop the matter, and interest himself
in getting the new house ready. He had re-
ceived the accounts, and found no fault ; John
was gone, taking nothing but the clothes he wore,
and his writing-case. Eobert looked sulky at
the notion of working at the business, even for
a time : and Mr. Bracy entered into negotia-
tion with a man to sell the concern. He articled
Eobert as a solicitor, but the lad's conduct gave
great uneasiness to Grace. He did not mind
hard words, and contrived to bring his father
over to his own views. His temper was trying,
so touchy and overbearing. There was nothing
like peace in the house. Judith made a tri-
umphant entrSe at Mrs. Eberley's, and became

HOME TBIALS. 79

such a favourite, as to be constantly at the hall,
even staying in the house. She was extravagant
and vain, and very trying to Grace, laughing at
her, and calling her a humbug, and prophesying
all manner of evil to Harry, which she declared
would be entirely Grace's doing.

CHAPTBE V.

Heatheboombe was a pretty place. It had
both wood and water round it. One of the
prettiest walks or rides was the short cut across
the fields to Cross Farm. It was on the other
side of the river. The wood clothing the hill
side formed a beautiful object from the town,
while the church and its handsome stone tower,
was a great addition to the view from Cross
Farm house.

The fields were just beginning to turn yellow,
and sufficient rain had given a fresh green tint
to the grass and the foliage. It was one of
those rarely lovely summer evenings which
make it a pleasure to live, and it struck one

80 HOME TBIALS.

as out of keeping with the scene, to see a young
girl leaning on a stile, with a weary, sad look.
She wore deep mourning, and stood long, not
looking at and admiring the long shadows, or
the cattle drinking in the river, nor turning
once to look at the effect of light and shade
on the bluff headlands in the distance. Grace
Bracy's eyes seemed bent on the ground in
deep and perplexed thought. She had been
into the town for shopping, and was now on
her way towards home.

Mr. Bracy had moved to this estate as he in-
tended, and was very fortunate both in finding
a tenant for his old house, and a man willing
to give a fair sum to be paid yearly, for hie
flourishing business. Mr. Bracy was a success-
ful man, people said. Unusually so, for a man
so fond of new inventions, and in his own way
a genius. Some clever hit he had made in
machinery brought him both renown and riches.
He could now take his place with other country
squires, and his and Judith's ambition had been
entirely satisfied. A great many people called
on them on their removal to Cross Farm, and
Mr. Bracy talked of giving dinner parties ; but
this and many other plans were knocked on the
head by his wife's death. She never entirely

HOME TBIALS. 81

rallied after her son's departure, and anxiously
as she looked and prayed for news of him, none
ever came. The transplanting to a new home,
gave the finishing stroke. She never left her
bedroom when once she reached it, and in a
month's time she was carried hack to the town,
and laid beside her four dead children.

Persons said it was a " happy release." Poor
Grace often felt glad her mother was not here
to suffer, but it was an inexpressible loss to her.
She felt completely alone, and even worse than
that — for troubles and trials seemed to thicken
daily, and there was no one to go to for even a
kind word — no one, she felt, who loved her.

Mr. Bracy's temper was much soured. Now
when all trouble from outside pressure had
ceased, when he had money and renown, and
every comfort he desired, he Beemed to create
troubles for himself and those about him. Cer-
tainly his only remaining son must have been a
source of anxiety. Eobert thought because his
father was well off, he might plunge into every
kind of idle living and extravagance. He was
no credit to his name. Instead of entering
into society, which to a certain extent was very
easy for him, Mr. Bracy avoided seeing even his
oldest acquaintance. He was gloomy and mis-

82 HOME TBIALS.

anthropical, spending nearly whole days apart
from his family, shut up in his own rooms, or
sometimes wandering in a purposeless way
about the estate. He did not interfere with
Judith's visiting, though he sometimes sneered
at it, and grumbled at her expenses.

Cross Farm was still in Heathercombe parish,
and Mr. Bracy's dislike to the Vicar had gone
so far, that he never now entered the Church
at all, and if he had an opportunity he invariably
opposed Mr. Carlton in the parish.

On her mother's death, Judith, as eldest
daughter, naturally became head of the house,
and she began to keep the keys and give orders.
But she soon wearied of the labour, and found
it took up too much of her time* She was often
for days together with Mrs. Eberley at the hall,
whose favourite she still was, and when things
went wrong, and Mr. Bracy grew very angry,
and did not spare her from severe blame, Judith
made matters worse by arguing. Very painful
scenes took place in this way, till one day in a
pet, Judith brought the keys to Grace, who
acted as governess to the little girls, and told
her she had better take the housekeeping, and
see if she could please better. Judith would
never have to do with it again — never.

HOME TBIAL8. 88

In vain Grace tried to reason and persuade ;
pointing out that Judith was so much more
liked by her father, and had really more time,
since Grace undertook the teaching. Judith
would not yield. If Grace didn't like it, she
might let it alone. Their father must hire a
housekeeper.

" And we shall have a step-mother/' Grace
suggested.

" I don't care ; matters can't be worse, and I
mean to be quit of it all ere long. I'll have a
home of my own," said Judith.

So Grace was forced against her will, and in
fear and trembling lest it should displease her
father, to be housekeeper. The only thing she
insisted on was, that when Judith was at home,
she should sit at the head of the table, and con-
tinue to act eldest daughter to visitors. To
this Judith by no means objected, and she was
less and less at home, and also increasingly re-
served to Grace about her doings.

It was no small task to act thus with no
great share of physical strength and always in
fear, having to arrange and manage for all — to
shelter Robert and the little ones from undue
blame, and to receive no support, not a word
of thanks, love or sympathy, from one week to

84 HOME TEIALS.

another. Grace had all to learn too. Her
mother was never anything of a manager, and
never had an establishment like the present to
manage. Servants served ill, and took advan-
tage of her ignorance and her timidity, and then
Mr. Bracy was angry at unnecessary expense.
Grace believed that he never realized being
above want. The desire to save, and yet to make
a certain show, grew stronger and stronger.

Prom early childhood, Grace had been some-
what of a dreamer, and was fond of reading of
heroes and heroines, till she longed to have
been a pilgrim or a knight herself. Then she
thought she should like to devote herself and
all she had, as a nun to religion, or she should
like to go as a missionary to preach to the hea-
then. In her fancy she went through the dif-
ferent scenes, till she shed tears over her own
devotion, and awoke from these day dreams to
find her own life a very miserable affair.

Something of the feeling of self-sacrifice had
moved and helped her in the great trial of
giving up Harry Vane. Bitterly as she felt it,
there was at first a sense of excitement, which
in a certain sense pleased her. As time went
on, this faded, and the sober matter-of-fact
reality was hard to bear.

HOME TBIAL8. 85

Like many other high-minded young people,
she despised small household trials, and while
she fretted or languidly sank beneath their
weight, she believed she could willingly and
bravely do some great deed. But all these
thoughts and fancies had been locked in her
own most secret, bosom. Grace had never yet
found a friend to understand her, or to care
enough for her to. draw her out. Prom being
a sickly child, and living among stronger wills
than her own, she had learnt to endure quietly,
and people who saw her go through her duties
so calmly, and take well-meant advice so meekly,
little dreamt of all that passed in her mind, nor
how much earnest and warm feeling existed
beneath a somewhat inanimate and indifferent
exterior.

Her greatest treat was to steal away alone,
any where, and indulge in her own thoughts.
Nothing but a conscientious sense of duty, kept
her from doing this more than would have been
good for her. She did not know the danger,
but she knew there were certain duties lying
straight before her as a child and sister, and
knowing this, Grace could not be easy to neglect
them. Thus unconsciously to herself, by the
punctual performance of small duties, she was

i

86 HOME TRIALS.

gradually laying up a treasure, which in the
hour of need would prove invaluable. Grace
lamented her want of time to act any longer as
a visitor or school teacher under the Vicar.
One day she ventured to express her sense of
utter uselessness, and his answer cheered her
weary spirit for days and days. He said,

" No one is useless who sets himself to do
the work lying nearest him. Glad as I am of
help, Grace, I should be sorry to see you offer
it now."

x It happened that on this evening, when Grace
had allowed herself to rest at the stile and
think, unusual and new perplexities tried her
sorely. She longed for a friend's advice, and
actually went so far as to the Vicarage gate,
resolved to open her mind to her kind friend
and pastor ; but at his gate, she thought that
her father disliked and disapproved of him.
Would it be right or kind in her to speak of
home troubles to him P

After a brief struggle, she turned away to
exercise her own judgment, weak and faulty as
she felt it to be. She could but do her best,
and trouble had not failed to teach her, as it is
intended to teach us all, that there is One Ear

HOME TBIALS. 87

always open — One Arm always prompt and
strong to help.

" Why here you are after all," said a cheery,
bat soft Toioe behind her; and Grace, somewhat
startled, turned to see Miss Betsy Stafford's
pleasant, kind face. " There have I been to see
you! I rested quite an hour, and the little
girls showed me their garden, and chickens, and
bees. And just this very afternoon that I take
it into my head to call on you, you choose to go
into the streets for shopping ! That is wasting
such lovely weather, I think."

" I was obliged to go. And I also called on
you, Miss .... Aunt Betsy, mayn't I call you
so?"

" To be sure, my dear ; I am Aunt Betsy to
all the parish; and indeed, Grace, it rather
hurts me to find you and Judith come to ' Miss
Stafford !' "

" Judith thinks it is not proper to be ' Aunt-
ing 9 or ' Cousining' people. She broke me of it.
But when I see you, 'Aunt Betsy* will pop
out."

" To be sure. Judith is grown such a grand
and fashionable lady, I can't keep up with her
at ail. How very beautiful she is, my dear!
Your father is proud enough, I dare say. And

88 HOME TRIALS.

how is he ? The little girls said he had given
orders not to he disturbed. Busy, I suppose,
with his scientific experiments ; hut I think it
almost a pity to keep in a room on such a day
as this. My dear, I think the country about
here grows more and more beautiful every year.
I saw you were admiring it. Look, now, at the
light on the hill."

" I fear, beautiful as it is, it was lost on me,
Aunt Betsy. The truth is, I was full of my
own wretched thoughts."

" Ah, my dear ! well, we must think now and
then. But I hope when you say wretched, there
is no particular, — no new trouble, is there P"

Grace hesitated, coloured, and then burst into
tears. " If it can do you any good to speak of
it, tell me, my dear. I have seen various trials
in my life, and may be I might help you a little.
I often think of you, Grace, so bravely doing
your duty alone, as one may say. Is it of Robert,
my love P"

" No. Yes. That is— there is always trouble
about him, I fear, too. O, Aunt Betsy, I live
in fear of what may happen any day, and will,
I believe, sooner or later. Can nothing be done ?
Will he hearken to no one P Sometimes I think
if he would leave this place "

HOME TBIAIiS. 89

" Ah, my dear, consider the pain of separa-
tion ; never knowing even if he is alive or dead."

" True. Yes, that is bad, indeed. No, we
have had enough of that," Grace whispered.

" Won't Eobert mind you, my dear ?"

" No : or if he would, something else comes
between us ; and besides, I am not one to lead
others. I can't get people to like or love me as
Judith does," Grace said in a desponding tone.
" But she won't speak to Eobert, in fact — I fear
— I may speak to you ; but the secret of all is,
Aunt Betsy, I am very, very unhappy about
her! Indeed, I am."

To this Betsy made no reply. Her face was
grave, and seemed to bear a silent testimony
that Grace was right. At least, so the girl un-
derstood it; for she exclaimed eagerly, "Have
yon heard ? O Aunt Betsy, do you know any-
thing of it?"

" Nothing. I only know from my own obser-
vation, as well as from the tittle tattle of the
town, that Judith is gay, — dresses rather too
much, perhaps, — and is a little more free in her
manners than old folks quite like. It is a try-
ing position for her, to go out so much, to be so
much admired, and to have no mother or rela-
tion. Mrs. Eberley is kind, but she lacks judg-

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HOME TBIAL8. 91

cise self-denial, and curtail her expenses. You
must set it before her plainly as a duty ; and if
you know — are sure — she is running into debt,
let me advise you to speak to your father. It
is no kindness to her to allow it to go on. My
poor child, yours is no easy task ; your home no
be<J of roses."

" That I don't mind ! I always rather wished
for trials. I should not mind roughing it and
being poor, and working ever so hard ; but, to
have one's life frittered away by such mean
cares, such petty vexations, that I do regret;
though the Vicar does say our nearest duty is
our first duty. But so often 1 question if it is
duty at all — if I am not getting over-careful and
anxious ? — always counting up bills and seeing
faults; and — and — I can't make a cheerful,
happy home for father, or Eobert, and Judith,
whatever I do ! They, each and all, say that I
weary them with my dismal face, and then they
go elsewhere for cheerfulness, and that leads to
mischief. I wonder what I can do !"

" Do your best, and cultivate a cheerful and
hopeful spirit. You can do no more. All will
seem like a dream, like a tale that is told, soon.
You are inclined to be rather sad-hearted, ain't
you ? You mistrust yourself and lean on others ;

90 HOME TRIALS.

merit sometimes. Don't look so very sad, my
dear. Judith is very sensible, and is surely
open to advice. I assure you I hear nothing
worse than I have told you."

" But that is bad. Extravagance leads to —
to debt — and that's it! 1 feel sure all is
not right about it ; and I am so powerless to
help or advise, though poor Judith thinks I
could command a little money, since I draw
for the house bills. I sometimes don't know
if I am right or wrong, I get so puzzled ; and
my father is not like some men, as you know.
He is so easily excited, I dare not trouble him ;
but rather strive to keep all these things from
him. He makes Judith a liberal allowance, and
I know he thinks it more than enough, so I
dare not ask for more. If I had only an allow-
ance for myself, I could help ; for not going out,
very little does for me. But father said there
was no occasion for me to have it. I must buy
what I want, and put it in the accounts ; and so
I do. Is there any way I could earn a little, do
you think? I would so willingly work. And
Robert is so thoughtless that it is no wonder if
father is vexed and frightened."

" My dear, what time have you to be working ?
You do all you can as it is. Judith must exer-

HOME TBIALS. 91

cise self-denial, and curtail her expenses. You
must set it before her plainly as a duty ; and if
you know — are sure — she is running into debt,
let me advise you to speak to your father. It
is no kindness to her to allow it to go on. My
poor child, yours is no easy task ; your home no
bed of roses."

" That I don't mind ! I always rather wished
for trials. I should not mind roughing it and
being poor, and working ever so hard ; but, to
have one's life frittered away by such mean
cares, such petty vexations, that I do regret;
though the Yicar does say our nearest duty is
our first duty. But so often 1 question if it is
duty at all — if I am not getting over-careful and
anxious ? — always counting up bills and seeing
faults; and — and — I can't make a cheerful,
happy home for father, or Bobert, and Judith,
whatever I do ! They, each and all, say that I
weary them with my dismal face, and then they
go elsewhere for cheerfulness, and that leads to
mischief. I wonder what I can do !"

" I>o your best, and cultivate a cheerful and
hopeful spirit. You can do no more. All will
seem like a dream, like a tale that is told, soon.
You are inclined to be rather sad-hearted, ain't
you P You mistrust yourself and lean on others ;

92 HOME TRIALS.

so, for you, the way is to look on the bright side
of every thing and trust in Gob ; while you
must try not to worry yourself by too close and
anxious scrutiny of your motives, or be too cast
down, if you do not always succeed. To take
advice and want sympathy is one thing — never
to trust oneself to act by one's own judgment,
another."

" I see, I see ! and this want of faith in my-
self leads others to mistrust me too. But what
can be done if I see daily and hourly how I do
mistake, and say and do just the wrong thing ;
if, in fact, I am not about the work for which I
am fitted — for that is the real truth, Aunt Betsy.

" I believe I could visit among the poor, and
teach children, and so on. I could, I think,
bear even hardships for the glory of God ; but
as manager of a house — to keep the peace in a
family — for this, I am not able — not fit."

"Never say so; don't think it, my dear.
Depend on it the Almighty places us where we
are best off, though we can't see why now.
One thing I do think you need. You need
a little rest and change. Your bodily strength
is feeble, and your spirits low. Grace, I must
try what I can do, to persuade your father to
lend you to me for a while. No, don't say no ;

HOME TBIALS. 93

the children too. It will do, us all good, I am
sure. Now I must be going, my dear child.
Good-bye !"

" Thank you. You have done me great good,
Aunt Betsy ; and I feel braver to go home now.
I was so dreading it just before you came up
that I had half a mind to run away." They
parted then, Grace really comforted as she said
by a few kind helping words.

CHAPTEE VI.

" Grace, it is of no use trying to stop me, I
tell you. I must have money, and you must
get it for me. Now don't look wretched and
sulky, there's a dear," said Judith a few even-
ings after that on which Grace had met Aunt
Betsy. The sisters were going to bed, and
while Judith brushed her long hair, she tried
alternate coaxing and threatening.

" As I have said, so I say again, Where and
how am I to get money ?"

" Judith, you must spend only what you are

94 HOME TRXAX8.

allowed : and what is more, I am come to a de-
termination, that "

€t What determination, pray ? If yon think
you are going to set up as my guide and mistress,
you are quite mistaken 1 I don't see how it
concerns you how much I spend."

" Then why do you come to me about it P"

" Simply because you have chosen to take the
head and management of the house ; and there*
fore you are the proper person to provide me
what I want."

" You are unjust, Judith, as you know ; but
let it pass. The fact is, I believe you are at this
very moment in debt. Is it so ?"

Judith coloured up. " I need not confess to
you, my little missionary; and you need not
pull so long a face — just as if you were going to
preach a sermon. Yet, I don't care ; you are
welcome to an answer. Yes, I am in debt ;
and therefore money I must have."

" Then, Judith, I will go to father and ask
him for it ; but I shall tell him the truth. I am
sure it is right ; and, however painful, it must
be done."

" Grace, I dare you to do so 1 Tell my father
that ! Are you mad P I tell you when I have
cleared off those tiresome bills, and set myself

HOMB TRIALS. 95

up as I mast be for this journey, I shall be in ft
position to be independent of farther help. It
is a great opening for me— a grand opportunity.
I know what I am about, but interference will
ruin all. Grace, I shall probably be ' my lady.'
What do you think of that now P Isn't the
prospect worth a little outlay P"

" It is never worth doing wrong, even — "

" Spare me any sermons or lectures : they
never do me any good. I am determined,
somehow or other, to do this thing ; and if I
am not helped to do it in a proper way, why
then—"

Judith wound up with a toss of her head,
and a look which gave great pain and alarm to
Grace.

And there was reason for alarm. Judith had
been for some little time acting in a way her
sister did not quite understand. Curious and
unpleasant rumours reached her by the servants
and visitors ; and Judith hereelf sometimes let
out hints that she was playing a deep game.

A lady, rather young, though a widow, and
very gay, had been staying at the Hall, and
there had met and made acquaintance with
Judith. They suited, and fell at once into a
strong friendship. Mrs. Hall insisted on Ju-

96 HOME TBIALS.

dith's walking, and driving, and singing with
her, and roused all her latent ambition by paint-
ing the conquests she would make, if introduced
to a larger field than such a " slow, dull place as
Heathercombe."

Mrs. Hall was going abroad for the winter ;
and as her sister was, from ill health, obliged to
give up accompanying her, she fixed on Judith
as her companion. Nothing could please Judith
more ; and it was to set herself up with a full
and complete wardrobe that she now wanted
money. There were, besides, old standing bills
which she would like to pay before leaving
home.

When she had once alluded to the invitation,
her father had not positively said no to it ; but
it was becoming needful to get a clear consent,
and the means, and Mr. Bracy was more than
ever angry at being asked for money, and less
and less accessible to his daughters.

Grace did not think the scheme at all a wise
one. From what she heard and saw of Mrs.
Hall, and Mrs. Hall's cousin, Sir Charles Sandon,
she believed them to be very undesirable friends
for her sister. But Grace had no influence;
and she found that her speaking against a thing
rather added to Judith's determination to do it.

HOME TBIALS. 97

u Grace, will you get the money ? will you
ask father?" again said Judith.

" If I do, I shall tell the whole truth. And,
besides, I wonder at your persisting in choosing
me to ask : you know so well how little my
father — likes — me !"

Her voice dropped low at the end.

" "Well, if you won't do it, I shall get some
money from Bobert. I can do so ; and I shall
leave bills to some amount to come in when I
am far away from this. I shall take French
leave, and say nothing about it. It is very hard,
so rich as father is, that I should be grudged
what I want !"

Grace knew that Judith would do what she
threatened, and she trembled at the conse-
quences of such bold disobedience. Judith
would be turned off— forbidden her father's
home. She might not care ; Grace feared she
would not. But might it not drive her to some
desperate and dangerous course ? And the re-
membrance of a hard, evil-looking face paying
bold compliments, and showing almost insolent
attention to g Judith, caused poor Grace to
shudder. That dreadful Sir Charles ! and Mrs.
Hall, so giddy and thoughtless !

After a long, silent consideration of all this,

K

98 HOMB TEIAXS.

Grace rose to leave the room. She said quietly,
and with effort,

" I will do my best for you, Judith ; but, for
heaven's sake, don't be rash ! Don't bring more
trouble- on us! Do be careful! Oh, I wish
you would give up going with those people !"

Judith only laughed, and, for a wonder, she
kissed her sister, and thanked her for her pro-
mise of help.

No sleep did Grace get that night: she
dreaded the conversation with her father more
than she could say. It was positive pain to
her ; and all the next morning she was hot and
cold by fits, and nervous to a degree.

When the lessons were over, finding that Mr.
Bracy was in his work-room, Grace determined
to go at once and seek an interview. It was
indeed like braving a lion in his den !

The result of Grace's interview — for there is
no need to write such painful details — was a
stern order for the culprit Judith to appear before
him, with an exact list of her debts, that evening
after tea. Mr. Bracy's pride, if no better feeling,
would not allow of a daughter's bills being un-
paid. The need for further outlay was pecu-
liarly irritating, as he had another scene with
his son the day before ; and also he had lately

HOME TBIAIiS. 99

expended a good sum on some instrument for his
own experiments, which had proved a thorough
failure and loss.

As to Judith's going abroad with Mrs. Hall,
her father swore he would not consent. She
must stay at home and learn to be steady. A
good prospect lay before her, which he insisted
on her accepting, under penalty of his disowning
her. A very good proposal of marriage had
been made to him for her, he said ; one which
Bhe, in her pride and vanity, might think lightly
of, but which was only too good for her ; and
Grace was advised to urge her acceptance of it
directly. Who it was, he did not tell Grace.
His bitter anger, his violent language, and even
more, his complaints of home troubles and the
miserable life he had led, upset Grace entirely.
He said he had no comfort from his wife, and
none in his children ; launched out again in the
old way about Grace's being "religious," and
flattering that Vicar ; and went on to almost
abuse her bad housekeeping and stupid way
of teaching her sisters, who, he said, were a
*8t of ignorant, dirty little dunces, a disgrace
to him and herself. He said she had had a fair
trial ; and if she did not very soon turn over a
new leaf, he should find some one else to do her

100 HOME TBIAXiS.

work, and she'd find herself not quite bo much
mistress as she fancied. Grace did sigh out,
" What can I do P If you would but tell me !"
But he deigned no reply : only, catching the
look of almost agony in her face, and seeing her
shaking hand as she lifted a book he had ordered
her to take away, a bitter shadow of actual
loathing dislike crossed his face, and he bade
her " be gone at once !"

"Well," said Judith, having watched for
Grace's coming out.

" No, nothing well, nothing good. O Judith !
if I could but make my father even not dislike
me so ! My very presence near him is hateful
to him."

" Oh, it is of your own affairs you are full !
I thought you went to speak for me! Just
like you — selfish and sulky, and always so dis-
mal ! Of course you bungled ; I knew how it
would be !"

Finding that Grace did not answer or appear
to notice these stinging words, — for in her ex-
treme dejection she would gladly be spared an-
other syllable, — Judith tried other means ; and
conquered her temper so far as to speak more
civilly, and beg Grace to tell her what had
passed.

HOME TBIALS. 101

When she had heard all, having followed
Grace to her bedroom, and shutting the door
for privacy, Judith's handsome face seemed,
after the first passionate flash of anger, to turn
to stone. Her eyes looked fierce and deter-
mined, but her first remark was,

" Did he say from whom this proposal came ?"

"No."

" I know : the fool has been trying to please
me, worrying and boring me for weeks. Mr.
Bracy doesn't really think I would have him !
It is a mere sham — a threat !"

"And you will write down all; don't keep
any back," Grace turned to say, as she left.
"It m kind of him to pay, for indeed he has
had many serious calls lately. Judith, try — try
to please him, to comfort him ; he does like and
love you I"

" Thank you for your advice, and for your
able management of this affair."

Grace hastened away, stung by the irony of
her manner, and not understanding what Judith
meant to do. A throbbing headache made it
utterly impossible for Grace to leave her room
again. She managed to get into bed with a
servant's help, who closed the shutters, and en-
treated to be allowed to send for the doctor.

k2

102 HOME TRIALS.

But Grace only begged for quiet, and that the
little girls might be kept out of her father's
way.

At last she gained relief from the pain of
body and mind, and fell asleep. She awoke to
find it nearly dark — bed-time, as the maid said,
and not worth while for her to get up then
at all.

Two hours later tbe maid came to see if
Grace wanted anything ; and finding her better,
let out that master seemed to.be in a great way,
stamping about, and asking after Miss Judith.

" And where is she ?"

" I don't know, miss. "No one hasn't seen
her since dinner-time. Master had his dinner
sent to his room, and Miss Judith carved.
Likely enough she's in the town, and may re-
turn now. It isn't so very late, but she's often
been later : only wouldn't advise her to come in
her papa's way, for he do seem out-of-the-way
angry at her ; for he says he stopped at home
on purpose to see her."

" So she has actually avoided going to him !
Judith !" thought Grace ; and uneasy and
anxious, she got up, and put on her dressing-
gown to watch and listen.

She could see the path across the last field, if

HOME TEIALB. 103

Judith walked home ; or if she returned in a
friend's carriage, she should see it at the gate.
So she sat at the window.

It was a calm, bright moonlight: the still,
solemn feeling it gave her soothed her cares,
and carried her away to the hour when this
beautiful world would be dissolved. " Like
a scroll!" she repeated; "and the sun and
the moon darkened ; and there will be signs
in the heavens." Her thoughts then flew
to the parable of the wise and foolish virgins,
and the clear commentary made on it by Mr.
Carlton one day in school. And Grace prayed
for herself, for her father, for Judith and all ;
yes, for another, too, never forgotten at such
moments.

But how dreary life seemed, and how long it
might be ! She was not two and twenty ; and
in this lonely spot, this ideal of a quiet English
country home, how much distress, and bitter-
ness, and trouble there was. But just now she
did not long ana* yearn to go away and leave it
all. She earnestly prayed for help to make
things better.

If only Judith were different, what a comfort
it might be! How much one so clever and
agreeable might do with each and all! And

104 HOME TRIALS.

perhaps she would. When once Mrs. Hall was
gone, after the first disappointment and resent-
ment at being thwarted, perhaps Judith would
be glad to resume her right place in the house.
Grace resolved to strive her very utmost to
please and " suit " her sister better ; to try and
enter more into her pursuits and pleasures, and
not be such a kill-joy and stupid, dull creature,
as Judith always found her.

Her reverie was disturbed by her father's
voice, pitched high and shrill.

" Lock up the doors ! it is after twelve. If
she comes, she may get in as she can, or not
at all. I will teach her to behave in this way
again ! Why, Robert has been home this hour
and more !"

Then there was a sound of shutting up, and
the house-door chain rattled, and Mr. Bracy's
own door was banged. Stillness followed. But
Grace continued her watch, fearing and hoping
to see her sister or some messenger. It was so
clear and still, she could hear the church clock
strike out the hours at Heathercombe. She
could see the white houses, and she wondered
in which Judith was.

At last, just about dawn, Grace fell asleep
where she sat, her head on the sill.

HOME TRIALS. 105

" Here's a note I found, Miss, quite by chance,
as I may say. Very careless to trust it in that
fashion. It lay under the front door, as if
somebody had squeezed it under,", said the
maid.

It was from Judith. Grace wondered she
had not seen the messenger. It must have come
lately, while she slept.

"Deab Gbace,

" This is to inform you that I am neither
drowned nor hanged, which your fancy might
persuade you to suppose. When you get this
I shall be far away. I leave my home: no
explanation is needed; and I scarcely think
any one will care to know more. If they do,
let me assure them, that I have found considera-
tion and kindness ; nay, more than that. Mr.
Bracy need not trouble himself about any dis-
grace attaching itself to his name by my bills ;
they will be paid. For the present,

"Judith Bbaoy."

It was no use reading and re-reading this, and
turning it round and round. That was all!
Grace could not understand it, and began to
think it must be the fault of her own stupidity.

106 HOMS TBIAL8.

Should she tell her father, or show him this?
Or would it not be wiser to wait, for either
Judith was joking and would return, or she
would write again and explain.

But the maid told her master of the note, and
Grace could not do otherwise than show it.

Mr. Bracy hurried off at once, without break-
fast, to find out more in the town. He uttered
many threats, and ended with declaring he didn't
care if she was gone. She should never come
back, that was all !

Robert pained and distressed Grace by insin-
uations and jokes, that Judith had eloped ; and
Grace was glad when he went to his office.

During the day, one or two absurd reports
were brought by tradesmen's errand boys, and
duly repeated and added to by the servants.
But Mr. Bracy did not return, and Grace was
sick with suspense, till unable to bear it any
longer, she determined to walk to the town.
What she was to do there she did not know. She
might meet her father, or see Aunt Betsy, or
hear something. Perhaps Judith was at the
Hall ; but then she remembered that the note
said " far away."

Not a soul did she meet ; and when once in
the street, she began to be afraid of seeing her

JS03O TBIALB. 107

father, and his being angry at her leaving home.
Or, what if he had returned by the road, and
was asking for her ? So she irresolutely stood
for a moment, wishing strongly to go on and
call on Miss Stafford, though she knew it was
ten chances to one if she was at home at this
hour. However, she did go there ; and after a
little doubt if her mistress was in or out, Grace
was asked by the servant to wait in the parlour,
and in another moment had the pleasure of
hearing Aunt Betsy's voice on the stairs.

" Do you know— have you heard anything of
Judith ?"

" My dear child, no ; why, is she not at home ?
Yea, I did hear Miss Fatty Lee answering Mr.
Mortlock in the street, to be sure, and I re-
member Judith's name was spoken ; but I was
full of my business."

" Is she at Mrs. Eberley's ?" she asked, when
Grace told her of Judith's going away yester-
day.

Grace did not speak of the note yet, so fearful
was she of doing harm. " It might be a joke,
one of Judith's practical jokes to alarm me,"
she constantly said to herself, her beating heart
all the time contradicting it.

" You look fit to # &int," said Aunt Betsy ;

108 HOKE TBIALS.

" sit here quietly. Mary shall make you a cup
of coffee, and I will go to the Hall and inquire
if Judith is there, and be back again in no
time." And she was gone while she said it.

When the servant brought the coffee, Grace
thought she seemed about to say something,
she lingered on in the room, and cleared her
throat so often.

"You are hurried, ain't you, miss? Them
reports are very unpleasant. 'Tis such a place
for making up stories ; but says I, directly I
heard it, I don't believe one word, I said."

" What have you heard ? Do tell me, Mary !"

" Such nonsense — that Miss Bracy got mar-
ried this morning, all private-like, and they're
gone away with a coach and four. She's such
a handsome young lady, and gets so much
courting, you see, there's no end of reports
about her. You'd be frightened to hear the
half!"

She stopped, seeing how pale Grace became.
But she tried to laugh and treat it as Mary did ;
while, full of restless anxiety, she got up and
looked out of window for Miss Stafford's return.

HOME TRIALS. 109

CHAPTEE VII.

It was not long before Miss Stafford returned.
Her step was somewhat slow, and her counte-
nance not like one that bore good news.

"My dear," she said, "it is very strange.
What were Judith's plans ? Did she leave no
message, no note ?"

"Tea, a note, such as it is. At least, our
servant found it squeezed under the door. But
I can't make it out. Oh, Aunt Betsy, tell me
all ! Mary says such shocking things ; and I
see by your face it is all true. Tell me all !"

"Mary! I have been to the Hall. Mrs.
Eberley was quite excited. You know, she is
an odd woman, though very kind. She said your
father had already been there, demanding his
child. She was deeply offended, I saw; and
says it is a lesson to her not to patronise young
girls. Judith has evidently not been to her.
Mrs. Eberley had not heard of her disappearance
till your father came."

" Mary says that they talk of her being mar-
ried and going away," Grace said. " Where is

L

110 HOME TRIALS.

Mrs. Hall P Where is that cousin Sir Charles F
Do you know, Aunt Betsy ?"

" Mrs. Hall left this morning, so Mrs. Eberley
says : Judith could not be with her therefore.
As to Sir Charles Sandon, he left — well, I be-
lieve it was yesterday ; I don't know. My dear,
surely — have you any reason to think — "

Miss Stafford stopped short, not liking to say
more. Grace, in a broken voice, told what her
sister had said, and what she had herself ob-
served and disliked. The note, too, which she
repeated, made Aunt Betsy shake her head
gravely. But still she said they must not con-
demn without further proofs. There was no-
thing for it but patience. Grace must go
home, for her father's sake ; and as she was so
ill and shaken, Aunt Betsy offered herself as
companion, and even consented to remain the
night there.

Just as they left the town, and were about to
climb the first stile, the Vicar came upon them,
looking tired and dusty.

In answer to Aunt Betsy's inquiries, he said
he had walked far. It was dusty and hot, too.
Then he looked at Grace inquiringly but kindly,
and even took her hand and said, "Poor girl,
this is very hard for you,"

HOME TRIALS. Ill

Grace could not syllable the question which
arose. The tone of kindness made her feel
ready to choke. But Aunt Betsy spoke for her.

" Ton have heard, then, sir ?"

"Indeed I have. Yes, reports of various
kinds reached me this morning in the town ;
some exceedingly absurd, of course, but one
was serious enough to make me anxious. I
had some business at Blackridge, and accord-
ingly walked there after morning service. You

are aware it is on the road to E , and that

there is a capital posting-house there P Well,
as I sauntered through the burning, long street
—one of the most thoroughly uninviting of all
small country towns I know — I was aware of a
group round the inn : nothing unusual, per-
haps; but gazing is infectious, and seeing my
fellow-creatures staring, I stared also. A post-
chaise stood at the door — a chaise and four.
Into this I saw a lady handed by a gentleman.
It was like a flash of lightning ; they were out
of sight before I could turn about to ask a
question. I thought — not till afterwards,
though — that the figures were familiar to me,
though both were hidden by wrappers and a
veil. I heard afterwards that a gentleman had
driven up in a gig, and ordered the fleetest

112 HOME TRIALS.

horses they had, with a large bribe for speed.
A lady was with him ; but all I discovered was
that she was in black, with a very thick veil.
The gentleman's servant was sent back here
to Heathercombe with commissions ; he rode,
and left the gig at Blackridge. This is all I
could discover. Now, I think inquiry should be
made about this servant; unless, indeed, you
have heard elsewhere."

" No, nothing. It must be my sister : it fits
in with her own note. Oh, can nothing be done
to save her P O Judith, Judith ! this will kill
my father !" poor Grace ejaculated.

In the course of a few days the Vicar learnt
that a servant of Sir Charles Sandon had been
in the town, paying his master's bills ; but the
man could never be met with, and was now gone.

No further account reached the family. Mrs.
Eberley heard from Mrs. Hall — a lively letter,
in her usual style, but speaking of Judith's still
accompanying her to Italy: wherefore, Mrs.
Eberley inferred that Judith was not with them,
and she haughtily resented any idea of the sort,
as reflecting on herself.

She was very severe on the poor girl; for
ever since the foreign tour was hinted at, Mrs.
Eberley became annoyed. She disliked any

HOME TBIAIiS. 113

one's going to foreign lands. It was one of her
peculiar dislikes ; and she now put all the mis-
chief, if mischief there was, to Judith's wish to
go amongst the " wretched French," &c.

In course of time Mrs. Hall was reported to
have left England. Of her cousin nothing was
known. Mrs. Eberley only knew him through
Mrs. Hall, and concluded he was with his regi-
ment, wherever that might be. Not a word
reached Cross Farm of Judith's fate. Mr.
Bracy struggled against showing how much this
grieved him ; but there was an alteration in his
whole appearance, and it seemed to make him
more cross and difficult to please at home.

Grace had to hear many allusions which made
her heart ache — that it was much owing to her
own great unamiability and dulness, that her
sister had found her home dull. Mr. Bracy was
perpetually threatening a governess for the little
girls, which made Grace work very hard to pre-
vent it. She could hardly trust to her father's
choice, and an unpleasant person in her lonely
life would make many things worse.

She hoped that the expense might make him
give it up, and scarcely ever left the children,
lest their voices or plays should disturb their
father and bring the much dreaded governess.

l2

114 HOME TKIALS.

CHAPTEK VIII.

Gb ace's pale cheeks were flushed, and her
whole appearance denoted nervous irritation,
painful to see.

She was in the small back parlour, generally
used as school-room, and after many vain at-
tempts had at last succeeded in persuading the
elder of the four children to attend to her read-
ing lesson, while the second was sobbing and
fretting over a sum ; and a third behind Grace's
back had upset her work-basket, and was enjoy-
ing her mischief, by further entangling the reels
of cotton.

"Do try and attend, Lydia! That is not
'displeased.' Spell it. It is ' displaced.' Yes!"
she said in answer to a voice without. " Oh ;
there is Eobert ! "What am I to do ! Now if
he comes in to talk, you take your sewing : do
you hear, Lydia P" And Grace turned with
a heavy sigh and very weary air to the door as
her brother bounced in, scolding her all the
time for letting him call till his throat was sore.

" I am always engaged, always busy at lessons
at this time," Grace said with slight displeasure.

HOME TRIALS. 115

" Bother the lessons! Send them off! I want
you ! I can't talk before them all I"

"Can't you wait?" she asked in a piteous
tone, which he directly took up and mimicked,
so as to bring laughter from the children. " No
verily, I can't, poor misery mortal, wretched
little martyr !"

Grace flushed up, but said nothing. She did
not even further remonstrate when he pulled
the books and the work away, and bade them go
off anywhere for ten minutes. Grace sighed,
but remained still, her head leaning on her
hand.

It was some time when the room was quiet,
before either spoke. Robert seemed to have
lost his courage, or he was in an absent fit.
Grace was too tired and out of heart to volun-
teer a syllable.

" Lend me some cash, Grace,"

She looked up at him, but did not meet his
eye. He was bent on disentangling a knotted
piece of string.

" Are you deaf, or dumb ? Will you lend me
a little money ?"

" Bobert, I have none !"

"Gammon! Gome, do be kind and civil.
Don't drive me into a corner this once. Tbe

116 HOME TBIALS.

fact is, you see, a lot of fellows are going to
have a day shooting sea-fowl. I'd give my hand
and go too — and they'll sneer and laugh if
I don't — and I can't without a little tin. I'm
so hard up. Gome, this once. I'll never ask
you again."

" O, Bobert !" She could not help showing
how she despised this oft made, oft broken
promise.

" I'm in sober earnest now. Upon my word,
it is the last time I shall ever be asking you.
You'll be sorry — you will, if — but you must
not, you cannot refuse. I know you have money.
I saw him hand over lots of notes three days
ago. Give me the key. If you are tired, I'll
bring your desk here."

"That was money to pay bills. It is not
mine. I haven't got a sixpence of my own."

" I don't care. I will have it. Tell what you
like. Do as you think right." And he hastened
to her desk which stood on a small table by the
window. It was unlocked ; the keys were in it ;
for Grace had been interrupted in her accounts
by a summons from her father to go to his room,
where he required her help in some of his expe-
riments.

She started up and laid her hand on Eobert's

HOME TRIALS. 117

arm. " He will be so very angry, Robert ! I
dare not !"

" But I dare. Let me alone. You may say
I did it in spite of you. I don't care. Only let
me have thirty shillings." And he violently
tossed out the money, confusing the little heaps
she had carefully made for the different bills,
caught up two sovereigns, and as quickly as
possible — before she had time to take it in — he
jumped out of the low window, and was gone.

Grace was annoyed with him ; very angry at
his violence and selfish disregard of her. She
had only time to put her desk a little straight ;
and locking it, put the keys into her pocket,
when the sounds of a loud and frightened cry
reached her. Then there was her father's voice,
loud and angry — more cries — and the sound of
a switch. She ran out, to find Lydia screaming
with terror and pain, as her father struck her
neck and arms with his riding whip. Seeing
Grace, she ran to her, sobbing out — " Didn't
he — didn't you send us out P"

" I told you, if ever I caught you out idling
in school hours again, I would make you smart,"
Mr. Bracy said, shaking his whip. "What
business have you out here at this hour? A
pretty teacher you make," he added, turning to

118 HOME TBIALS.

Grace. " The Parson has been asking for yon to
take a class in his Sunday School, and I told
him you had better learn to teach at home first.
But it is the same throughout ! Every thing
neglected !"

Grace's excuses were not heard. Mr. Bracy
mounted his horse, saying, he was going to put
an end to it all. She'd find things rather diffe-
rent in future.

It was as much as Grace could do to restore
peace and quiet among the children. Lessons
were out of the question. Tired and miserable
as she was, she tried to fix their attention by
reading to them.

" Anna says we are to have a governess, like
the Miss Mornes," remarked one of the children
when Grace paused from fatigue.

" Shall you like it P" Grace said.

" Yes : she won't be so dismal or so strict as
you. She'll teach us to work collars, and to
dance. I wish she was coming."

" I don't," sobbed out Lydia, who had a kind of
selfish affection for Grace, and was no favourite
with any one else. " I'd rather have Grace. I
wont learn of any one else."

" You mustn't say that. Very likely you'll
have to do so," said Grace.

HOME TBIALB. 119

a Anna says papa doesn't like you, Grace, and
that you haven't any spirit," Esther went on.

Grace shook her head, and reproved her for
repeating what this new maid Anna said.

"Anna said she'd persuade papa to let us go
with her on Sunday. She says he does what
she asks him."

" 1 don't like Anna a bit," said Lydia. " She
calls me a fretty, naughty girl, and says 1 have
a cross temper like Grace ; and she said" — low-
ering her voice — "that mother was just the
same."

" Anna is very wrong to talk so," Grace ob-
served, more hurt than she cared to show ; for
this new servant had added greatly to her
troubles, being a bold and insolent person, who
presumed on old acquaintance with some mem-
bers of Mr. Bracy's family. Already she had
contrived to set Grace's wishes and orders at
defiance, and to bring her into scrapes with her
father. Grace suspected her of trying to set the
little girls against her before, and this confirmed
it. She had offended Anna by telling her it was
the rule of the house for no servant to remain
oat of a Sunday Evening without special leave.
Anna broke the rule again a second time ; and
when spoken to by Grace, told her insolently,

120 HOME TRIALS.

that " she had her master's leave, and that was
all she needed." But this was only one of the
many trials and difficulties which beset her path.

A few days after this, Grace was astonished
by seeing the spare room in a state of prepara-
tion. On asking Anna what she was about, she
answered she had received orders to get it
ready.

That evening, just after tea, a carriage drove
up with luggage. All the children gathered to
the window to look and guess who it was.
" Judith, Judith !" they exclaimed to one ano-
ther. Grace looked up quickly, but her eyes
dropped again directly, for she saw her father
bowing and smiling — a rare sight — while he
helped a stranger to alight, and gave orders for
the boxes to be untied. A sharp voice sounded
through the hall — sharp and hard — one of those
peculiarly unpleasing voices which tell so much.
They passed on to the drawing room. Grace's
heart sank low. She felt it was the threatened
governess.

HOME TBIALB. 121

CHAPTER IX.

Mils. Jesbop — for the lady selected by Mr.
Bracy as governess, was a widow — was a great
contrast to Grace. So Grace herself saw and
reflected. She had an exuberance of spirits
and apparent good humour. Words flowed
rapidly with her. Everything was delightful,
lovely, beautiful. It was surprising how wide
her range of sympathy was. She could entirely
enter into the aspirations and dreams of a
genius such as Mr. Bracy. She could mourn
with and for him in his lonely lot, (for was she not
a fellow-sufferer P) while she could sympathise
with Robert's gay temper and love of society.
She " doted " on children, and followed Grace
to her room, to assure her she felt for her " gen*
teel" appearance "unbounded admiration."

" That quiet languor becomes you," she said.
"It is so very interesting! But now I am
here, you must give all the work, all the labour
to me. I am used to it. You may sit still and
amuse yourself. I will work."

At first Grace was obliged to her for her
friendly offers of help, and though she could

122 HOME TBIALS.

not get over her first impression, she tried hard
to do so, and not be prejudiced or uncharitable.
She tried to make the home pleasant for the
stranger; but ere long, even Grace saw that
the " stranger " would do that for herself, and
Grace had very soon to rally her presence of
mind and courage, or she found that not only
the schoolroom duties would be taken from her,
but every other. Once when she chanced to be
late of a morning, only five minutes, she found
Mrs. Jessop seated at the head of the table,
pouring out the tea, and nodding good-hu-
mouredly at Grace, but not offering to give it
up to her.

Mrs. Jessop was always at hand — always in
the way to do a "good-natured action," as she
called it. Ere a fortnight had passed, she was
mending Mr. Bracy's gloves, filing his papers,
even arranging his instruments — a thing Grace
had never dared to do. She learnt to brew
Mr. Bracy's toddy better than he did himself.
Grace would never have ventured to offer her
services, and looked on surprised and regretful.
Yet, though Grace felt that this "stranger"
had quickly stepped into her own rightful place,
and would probably do so still more, she tried
not to be sore or jealous. If she made her

HOME TRIALS. 123

father more comfortable, it would be good for
all. It was a pleasure to see him satisfied, and
if her own lack of agreeable qualities had caused
her to fail so miserably in every way, this was
but a just retribution and natural consequence.

So Grace sighed a little, but strove hard not
to see things with a jealous eye. Now that the
task of teaching was taken from her, she had
more leisure to devote to the housekeeping, and
she earnestly hoped to give greater satisfaction
in this respect. She had great notions of nota-
bility, though her own mother had not been a
practical example. But it was " in the family,"
as they said, and Grace studied with new
vigour an old receipt-book of her mother's, and
set about making delicate cakes and puddings,
or preserving fruit.

It was a new interest, and one she liked.
The cook had lived long there, and was a good
kind old body, not at all awful to Grace, and
very glad to encourage her young missis to " be
handy, hoping it would be better for her, than
so much poking over books and bills."

Grace began to look brisker, and feel lighter
at heart ; perhaps happier days were at hand.
Her old friend Mr. Carlton expressed himself
as pleased with what she told him, and with

124 HOME TBIALS.

her improved appearance. Grace hesitated and
faltered as she said how she wished she might
be allowed to attend the school again. Now
she had so much more time too she .... But
the Vicar interrupted her kindly, but gravely,
saying, he was sure it would displease her father.
She must be content with home work and in-
terests, he said. Then he spoke of his inten-
tion of going to a milder climate for the winter,
much against his wish, but doctors gave him
little hope of life without it. A friend of his
was to take his place in his absence. This was
sad tidings — for though of late Grace had seen
but little of him except at Church, she felt she
had a good and wise friend and adviser in her
clergyman always within call.

But Grace would not give way to sorrow or
sadness. This new gleam of light and hope,
had given her strength. She was thankful for
the improvement, and anxious to make the most
of it. As it was, grave cares hovered over the
household. Besides never hearing of poor reck-
less Judith, Bobert was constantly exciting his
father's anger very justly, and teazing his sis-
ters very selfishly. He had not repaid his
debt, and Grace was growing very nervous as
the day drew near, when she showed up her

HOME TBIALS. 125

accounts and received the month's pay. She
entreated him if he really could not repay it, to
explain it to his father, at which he only joked
and made a grimace, or tried to work on her
through flattery, praising her up as " so good a
sister," and so on. She knew how much this
was worth however, and assured him, if he would
not speak himself, she should tell the simple
truth.

The days passed away, and still Bobert said
he could not repay the money.

" What am I to do then ?" Grace said.

" As you like ! If there's a row I shall cut
and run. I hate the office. I want to go to
Australia. Old Bond has heard from his son,
who says that John and Harry are getting on
like a ship on fire ! That's the go I I wish I
could get out there !"

At one moment Grace had a passing thought
of asking Mrs. Jessop's advice ; perhaps even
she would kindly advance the money, till Bobert
could pay her P Grace knew she had money ;
but something made her shrink from and dis-
like doing this. Better trust her own father,
and not have unnecessary concealment. So she
inserted in her account book, "Advanced to
Bobert £2 ;" and with a beating heart laid the

m2

126 HOME TBL&XS.

various books on her father's table, till he should
be at leisure to overlook them.

Mr. Bracy was busy that day about a new
threshing machine, invented by himself. The
books were not touched when Grace anxiously
looked in after dinner. It was very fine with-
out, and she had leisure time. Knowing Mrs.
Jessop to be looking on in the barn, Grace
thought she might propose walking with her
little sisters, who since the arrival of Mrs. Jes-
sop had been much divided from her. Now
her heart yearned towards them. Her own
sisters — the little ones recommended to her
love and care by her mother ! She had proved
a poor teacher and elder sister, but she " might
still retain a hold on their hearts, still here a
little, and there a little," strive to teach them
God's ways. So she went to propose a walk
to a certain favourite meadow where Borne fine
iris grew.

The children seemed pleased at first, and
Lydia slid her hand into Grace's, with a timid
and frightened look. Esther said something
about Mrs. Jessop not liking them to be with
Grace, but evidently the gathering the flowers,
and the walk was a pleasure desired, and she
consented to go and ask leave.

HOME TRIALS. 127

"Have you been out before to-day ?" Grace
asked Lydia, thinking her paler even than com-
mon.

The child coloured up, but did not answer.

" "We're not to tell," put in the younger one,
Mary. " If we tell you things, we shall be
locked up in the dark, like Lydia was."

Before Grace had thought what to say in
answer to this, and while she became more and
more certain that poor Lydia was very unhappy
and afraid, Esther came back. She was the
one, the most like Judith, and just now a very
daring expression blended with curiosity, shone
in her fine eyes, making Grace recall old scenes.

" No ! on no account. Mrs. Jessop's going
to take us herself," she added, speaking to Mary.

" Very well," Grace said, " I am sorry, but it
can't be helped. You will like it as well I dare
say."

As she was going, Lydia clung to her tightly,
and Grace stooped to kiss her for this proof of
liking, but Mrs. Jessop's voice was heard shrill
and sharp, and Lydia suddenly let go her sis*
ter's hand, and ran to a further corner. Grace
escaped up stairs without meeting the gover-
ness. As she sat in her own room pondering
over Lydia' s too evident signs of fear, she saw

128 HOME TBIALS.

Mrs Jessop pass out in the garden, followed by
three of the children. Lydia was not there.

Without thought, Grace hastened to the
schoolroom, but the child was not there. She
then intended asking Anna about her, but on
her way was stopped by her father's voice. It
was Grace's turn to feel frightened now. She
turned red and pale alternately, for she well
knew the dreaded words in the account book
had been observed, and Bhe had now to bear the
brunt of another's fault.

Mr. Bracy was very angry indeed. But it
was in a new manner. He did not scold or
talk in his usual violent way. When he heard
her hesitating, but truthful account, in which she
strove to plead for Robert, he told her in a
cold, severe tone, that she by her own want of
upright principle, was the cause of leading her
brother and sister astray. He had borne with
her long enough ; but there must be an end to
all things. Now, he requested her — and his
assumed cold and polite manner, alarmed her
even more than the old way — " to bring at once,
all the keys and all the books. Henceforth he
should place the management of the house in
abler hands."

Seeing her about to speak, he desired her to
say nothing, for according to the way she bore

HOKE TBIALS. 129

this well-merited punishment, would depend
her future treatment. Then, as if he had con-
trolled himself as long as he could, some of the
old smothered dislike burst out, and with a look
but too familiar to her, he bade her begone.
She need not come back with the keys ; she.
was to give them to Anna to bring.

It added not a little to the bitterness of this
blow, to feel, though she would not see, the
sneer of triumph on this woman's face, as Grace
gave her the keys and books wrapped in a news-
paper. This done, she closed her door, and
gave way to bitter weeping. " O, Robert, Robert,
this is your doing!"

'• And where is Miss Grace P" inquired Mrs.
Jessop, as the party were about sitting down to
supper.

" I am sorry — grieved," said the widow, look-
ing at Mr. Bracy; "but one must expect a
little — , perhaps."

"Expect nothing but sullen, fretful temper,
as I told you," he said, shortly.

" Ah, well ! but first impressions are so right.
I saw it at once on the poor girl's face, though
I have blindfolded myself, I am sure, and picked
out all her better points."

"There are none to pick that 1 ever saw.

130 HOME TBIALS.

But what's this? — veal pie. Shall I help
you ?" And Mr. Bracy was engrossed with his
meal.

Robert did not escape. His father and he
had high words, in which the son declared his
resolution to leave the office and the country ;
and his father said he might do so if he liked,
but would get never a farthing from him if
he did.

The next day was Sunday — a quiet, sunny,
beautiful, summer Sunday. Every one who
could, went into the fields or the woods, or
walked by the river side that evening ; working
men and their little children, mothers and grown
up daughters. They might be seen on that
evening in every pleasant place, resting.

But some cared not to avail themselves of this
offered rest. At Cross Farm, Mr. Bracy worked
with frowning brows over his calculations. The
Church bells did not call him to Church. Only
when dinner was announced did he don his coat
and go down. Grave and pre-occupied, he did
not notice Grace's pale, heavy looks, as she
timidly hesitated, appealing silently to him,
doubtful if she might even retain her seat at the
head of the table.

" I had better carve that goose, Gracey, dear,"

HOME TBIALS. 131

Mrs. Jessop said, seating herself meanwhile;
while Grace, with drooping eyes and tightly-
clasped hands, sank into the next chair. Nei-
ther did the father notice the vacant place till
the meal was over. Then, looking up, he said,

" Where is Eobert ?"

There was no answer, and Mr. Bracy looked
at Mrs. Jessop.

She shook her head, and said, "she didn't
know : he was always irregular, wasn't he ?"

" He went out half-an-hour ago," the maid
said, pertly, "and told me to have his boots
wiped over before this evening."

No more passed ; but when most of the family
were out, either at Church or taking a walk
(Mr. Bracy had gone to see a distant field),
Eobert came back with a fly, and hastily putting
up a box of things, he drove off. Coming out
of Church, Grace saw this fly driving very fast.
She looked up, and recognised her brother's hat
as he waved it at her, and she understood then
that he had fulfilled his rash threat, — that an-
other was gone ! There was only herself now
of the " first set," as they used to term them-
selves, to explain the interregnum which divided
them from the younger ones.

Grace could not help pitying her father.

132 HOME TRIALS.

" He doesn't now, but one day he surely will
feel lonely and deserted ! What is it which
drives them each and all away so P Are other
homes, other large families like our's P If so,
what a wretched, sad place this world is !"

And when she was again in her own little
room, Grace placed her mother's Bible on the
window-ledge, and amid the low and pleasant
murmur of summer night sounds, the scent of
blossoms, and the refreshing, cool air, she read
with a full heart those wonderful words, speak-
ing of that strange life to come, "where the
wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are
at rest: where there is no more sorrow nor
pain: where there is love and peace for ever-
more,"

Darkness stole gently over all; voices were
hushed ; only a buzzing sphinx moth and a sub-
dued, distant whisper of insects was heard.
Grace's face was on her hands, and they were
clasped on the book. Her thoughts had wan-
dered on far ; she had lost the guiding rein, and
now they galloped far and wide, over old paths.
Not only that other life was before her, but,
while seeking the road which led to it, she had
once again allowed fancy and imagination to
draw pictures of wayside scenes. Again Grace

HOME TBIALS. 133

fancied herself a heroine, with her armour
buckled on, in company with the good and the
great ; self-devoted, ardent, brave. She saw the
noble Christian maidens who in old times con-
sented to die a martyr's death, rather than lose
tbe martyr's promised crown. She thought of
S. Cecilia, and many another whose history she
knew by heart. She remembered, too, the story
of that holy woman who loved prayer and medi-
tation, but who as wife and mother had her
time fully occupied ; who, called away from do-
mestic cares many, many times from reading the
Scriptures, and always going with sweet pa-
tience, when she returned, found her psalm in
beautiful golden letters, — showing the blessing
of duty fulfilled, which, like a key, opened unto
ber the treasures of God's Word. On and on
Grace travelled in fancy, as she had done so
often before, though not of late: nursing the
sick, teaching the heathen, even visiting among
tbe wretched and the poor daily, as Aunt Betsy
did ; dressing poorly, living hard, to be able to
give to others ; — all this filled Grace's heart and
mind with eager desire, till, in her earnestness,
she involuntarily spoke aloud.

"How beautiful! how happy! But I — my
lot is cast in such a different place ! All is so

134 HOME TBIALS.

low, so sordid, so mean; it can't be right!
There must be some work for a willing heart.
Where is it, I wonder ? Oh, if I could but
find it !"

A slight sound — a sense of the presence of
some one, made her sit up and look round. In
the shadow she descried a figure. She rose up
quickly, blushing, though in the dark.

" Is that you, Grace ?" said Mrs. Jessop, her
sharp voice falling strangely on that sweet still-
ness, and startling Grace.

" I fancied I heard a voice. Whom are you
speaking to ?"

"To no one — to myself, I believe," Grace
said, hesitatingly and shyly.

"Nonsense! don't try to humbug me! I
know better, child !" and she laughed. " Your
father has begged me to look after the house,
including yourself: he doesn't seem to consider
you particularly steady. Gome, no nonsense!
Who is it ?"

" Indeed, I don't understand you, Mrs. Jes-
sop," Grace said, coolly. " Did my father desire
you to spy — to watch in my own room P"

"He told me— asked me, I should say, to
oblige him by taking the part of head of this
establishment: I take my own measures for

50MB TBIALS. 135

this end. Once for all, let us understand one

another. You are very meek, but smooth water

is ever deep." Again she laughed, and Grace

wondered. " Now, I am noisy, like a cataract ;

every one may see and know me at once — all

above-board : that's the charm of my character,

as my late husband used to say. I mean to be

kind towards you, and even stand up for you ;

bat mind, I expect you to trust to me. So —

do you see ? — don't be telling me you're talking

to yourself, when I heard you with my own ears

asking somebody a question. Girls will have

their followers. Bless you ! I had my share,

and more than my share. Now, who is it, my

quiet, meek, genteel little Grace? pious as a

graven image, strict as a quaker : whom is she

talking to this summer night, eh, ducky ? Out

with it!"

As she chucked Grace under the chin, and in
her boisterous fashion coaxed her, squeezing her
and rattling her numerous chains and rings,
Grace — whose tastes, whose very instincts were
so opposite — could not repress a slight shudder ;
and she tried to draw herself from Mrs. Jessop's
arms.

"There! sitting by the open window has
made you shiver ! But it has, though ! Gome,

136 HOME TRIALS.

no nonsense, my pet lambkin ; I see, you and I
will be excellent allies, sworn friends. You
won't repent making a friend of me, see if you
do ! I could tell you — but mum. However, I'll
do something for you yet ! "We must ' manage'
a certain person: eh, ducky? Come, I shall
make you some toddy; it will do you good.
You are cold-blooded, and want some heat in
you. Come along !" And she pulled Grace on
with strong arms, which it was vain to resist.

As they went down she still talked. " How
did you manage that wretched little brute P I
had to whip her to-night! The dark closet
won't do; but the rod will answer. I can't
abide that timorous, puling temper : it raises
my hot blood ! But I shall whip it out of her
yet!"

" Who P Of whom are you talking P Not,
surely not — poor Lydia ! poor Lydia ! mother's
pet. God forbid !" Grace exclaimed, in terror
which astonished the complacent widow.

" Indeed, I did ! Don't excite yourself, now.
But I mean to conquer that child, I do !"

" Not a difficult task," Grace said. " Very
little will cure her — make her sly, and a coward.

Do be gentle, patient ! She was so long

ill ; so much indulged ; O, poor Lydia ! What

HOME TRIALS. 137

would mother say, or think ! And this is owing
to me!" These last words she did not utter
aloud. But her strong disgust against the
coarseness of this person was lost in her painful
fear that, wholly misunderstanding the nature of
this child, she would ruin her by coarse severity.

" Don't be afraid," again laughed Mrs. Jes-
sop. " I've had experience ! I know ! She's
met her match now !"

Mr. Bracy did not appear at supper. Mrs.
Jessop and Grace were alone; and as several
glasses of the hot toddy disappeared, which Mrs.
Jessop thought she was so good a hand at brew-
ing, and recommended so highly though vainly
to Grace, the widow grew kind and confiden-
tial, and Grace's astonishment increased, till she
was fairly lost in a puzzle, at the opposite and
extraordinary qualities Mrs. Jessop displayed.
She gave Grace a short sketch of her life, and it
was such that Grace grew more and more un-
happy at the idea of such a person taking her
own poor mother's place — of guiding and teach-
ing the little girls. At last, Grace rose with a
sudden and determined resolution to hear no
more, and go away. She called the servant, the
sneering Anna, and hardly knowing what to
say, pointed in a frightened way to the parlour,

n 2

138 HOME TRIALS.

only saying, " Mrs. Jessop !" She hastened up
stairs.

"Ay, ay," the maid answered. And then
Grace heard her speaking sharply — even threat-
eningly — and — surely she must be mistaken!
But it sounded as if Mrs. Jessop was crying —
begging for mercy — bribing the maid, not to tell
something. Horrified, bewildered, Grace flew
to her own room, and took care to lock it.

Thoughts, too bad to shape distinctly, far less
to speak, hovered over her. Should she, could
she give her father a hint ; now, before it was
too late P For his sake, and for the children's
sake !

Grace sat up, watching and listening. She
knew her father was still out. At last she heard
him return. He spoke to Anna in the hall, and
was coming up stairs. Grace timidly opened
her door. The next moment she would have
given the world not to have done so; but it
was too late. Mr. Bracy saw her ; stopped and
asked what she was doing so late, watching him ?

" May I speak to you one moment ?"

"What now? Well! Gome in, and make
haste." He entered Grace's room as he spoke.
In turning to close the door, Grace caught sight
of a door at the end of the passage, a little open.

HOME TRIALS. 139

Something white was there. Mrs. Jessop's
head peeped out and back again in a moment.
Grace turned quickly to meet Anna's eyes as
she came up stairs with the keys and the basket
of silver spoons and forks. Anna smiled in a
meaning way. She, too, saw Mrs. Jessop's
head. She even shook her head a little at
Grace, as if to give her warning.

" Well, why do you keep me waiting on your
whims P What is this freak P Be quick !" said
Mr. Bracy ; and Grace, confused and alarmed,
burst into tears. " Do forgive me !" she sobbed
out desperately, seeing he was about to push
past her, angry and annoyed. She put her hand
on him to detain him. He flung it off. " But
do you know— much — a great deal — about this
lady — Mrs. Jessop, I mean P" she managed to
say. — " Oh, if I could but make you understand
me ! If you could but have heard — have seen —
Lydia — she will ruin ! She — she — O, she talked
so foolishly to-night, and — and — so many glasses
of toddy, father !"

All came out in a jumble : she could scarcely
detain him. At last, he fixed his eyes on her.

" Hang me, if I understand. Are you mad ?
O, I see ! You and the widow have been drink-
ing my share as well as your own of toddy ! Pretty

140 HOME TBIALS.

doings ! This is the * pious' Grace, too ! Go to
bed, girl; and to-morrow you'll hear of this
again! Disgusting humbug! These District
Visitors !" And with an oath, and a loud
" Anna, see you that Miss Grace's light is out,"
he entered his own room.

" As she has brewed, so she must drink," was
Anna's observation to her fellow servant a week
afterwards, when old cook was loudly lament-
ing over the hard fate of "poor little Miss
Grace."

Mrs. Jessop had many curious qualities ; and
though at first sight it might seem so, she
was by no means a person easily read. Great
affectation of bluntneBs, and a sort of easy,
rough goodnature, hid a wary, intriguing spirit
and a strong regard for her own interests. She
was good tempered, in a way, while she was also
cruel and despotic; nor did she care how low
she Btooped to gain a point. She was clever and
coarse, and passed for a handsome woman among
some people.

Mrs. Jessop did not naturally like Grace.
She came fully prepared to hate her, and fight
her tooth and nail. But finding Grace meek
and yielding, and already in the " black books"
with her father, all that was goodnatured in the

HOME TRIALS. 141

widow, sprang up in favour of Grace. Had

Grace fallen a little more readily into believing

Mrs. Jessop's flattery, and given her a little

in return, while she gave so little trouble in

being tenacious of her rights, Mrs. Jessop would

have been kind to her. True, she began at once

by trying to set the children against their sister's

influence ; but Grace was not worth the trouble

of fighting ; she threw down her arms so at once.

Mrs. Jessop's success, hitherto, had been so

much greater and quicker than she had expected,

that she resolved not to be timid, but strike a

bold blow at once. Truly she lost no time!

She had not only advised Robert to be firm and

go from this country, but had actually been rash

enough to invest some of her savings on this

reckless youth. Secretly she had lent him

money to take him to London. He expected

there to hear of an employment which would

frank him to Australia. If not, he could but

work his way somehow. Once there, he thought

all was right, as he had friends there besides his

brother. After getting so formidable an obstacle

well out of her path, Mrs. Jessop, somewhat

flushed and excited with success, had tried to

make way with Grace. How she succeeded has

been seen. But although poor Grace's horrible

142 HOME TEIALS.

suspicion that too many glasses of toddy had
affected the lady's head was true, it was not to
that degree but that Mrs. Jessop was very
soon quite aware of her own momentary care-
lessness. "No sooner was she in her room than,
after washing her face, she recalled Grace's
frightened look, and suspected mischief. She
therefore watched. She saw and understood
Grace's appeal to her father, and Anna's mean-
ing look. She did not much dread any thing
poor Grace could say or do against her ; but
from that moment her whole soul was turned
against Grace with a deadly and bitter hatred.
There was no longer, after that night, a
semblance of friendship or liking. Mrs. Jessop
was haughty and cold ; entirely preventing a
free intercourse between Grace and her sisters ;
chiefly because she knew it gave Grace pain,
for her power was too firmly established for
that to be in danger, and often she would have
been glad to depute the trouble of a lesson
or a walk to Grace. But she must be kept
"down, and broken in;" and to thwart her
in every thing, great or little, was the way.
More and more Mrs. Jessop reigned supreme
from cellar to garret, and more and more did
Grace retire in silence, but in pain, to her own

HOME TBIALB. 143

room — " Still entirely her own," she had come
to say with a thankful heart. "Should that
ever be taken .... but — no ! she would not,
mast not, anticipate evils. She could not live if
she did. The old cook deplored and stormed
too ; threatening to give warning ! Even Anna
seemed satisfied and amply revenged; and
though in talking it over to cook, she had laid
the blame of this open war on Miss Grace her-
self, for Mrs. Jessop had been inclined to be
"comfortable" with her before she went telling
of tales that night ; still, Anna no longer tried
Grace by her own rebellious insolence. She
was even civil and attentive, and would have
been more so, but that she saw Grace did not
much like her and never encouraged her to talk
or be familiar. Anna sometimes repeated to
Grace the servants' resentment of any undue
assumption of "Missis" airs on Mrs. Jessop's
part ; but she never drew any reply or remark
from Grace. This was aggravating, and made
her exclaim—

" How I do hate such close people ! there
she'll sit the live-long day, and better than half
the night, reading, sewing, writing, thinking, —
so mum and so stupid ! Not a scrap of spirit
about her ! Bah ! I'd sooner see a body get

144 HOME TRIALS.

into a passion ! But she looks very badly, don't
she, now, cook ?"

" Ay ! and will look worse if this is to go
on! Mussy 'pon us! things, was bad enough in
poor Missus' time; 'twere always a doomed
kind of go-wrong sort of set. And then to see,
how money came for the asking, as you may
say. Such luck ! and they was set up for
gentlefolks at once ; not but the master always
was, or might have been, only he didn't hold by
it at all ! And then poor Judith, and her hand-
some face ; where be she now, poor soul, I
wonder ! And John, with his dark, clever eye ;
but I always say he was the best o' em — he and
Grace. Ay, Grace ! for all yer sneers ! I do
say and uphold 'mong ye all, that Grace was as
good and dutiful a little maid as ever lived ! — a
right-down, well-spoken, genteel little body;
and 'tis a sin for just to see the spirit of the
girl broken down so ! Better she was dead thiB
minute ! Ah, poor little lamb, if you had put
up with spanking Harry, you'd have laid softer
now .... I do believe ! But there ! All's for
the best some day !"

Old cook's not very intelligible ejaculations
ended in her taking a resolution which she very
soon carried into execution. Cook came from

HOME TBIALS. 145

Bracy's native town ; her " folks," as she called
them, lived there now, and saw the Banks 9
family pretty often. So, in coarse of time, an
oddly spelt, curiously worded letter, found its
way from Cross Farm kitchen to Mrs. Thomas
White, laundress, Mill Street.

And when Mrs. T. White next found time
for a gossip with her friends, she carried this
letter from her sister with her ; and as in the
multitude of counsellors there is safety, she pru-
dently took advice. The matronly heads agreed
it would he kind to give Miss Cissy Banks —
poor Mrs. Bracy's maiden and only surviving
sister — hints as to what was going on in her
brother-in-law's house.

" She may do as she likes when she knows,"
the advisers sagely remarked ; " but she ought
to know."

" Bless my soul ! you have surprised me, Mrs.
White!" was Miss Cissy Banks' exclamation,
when she finished the letter, which Mrs. White
carried straight and at once to her ; and with
tears in her eyes Cissy sighed and repeated,
"Bless me! oh, dear! oh, dear! Poor dear
Lydia was very self-willed that once! She
would have Bracy, though we ail warned her
he was a genius, and sure to make an indifferent

o

146 HOME TBIALB.

husband* Besides, by birth he was a gentle-
man, and — well, I am old-fashioned* Mrs.
White, and I think it is wiser and happier to
keep in one's own station ; but that's neither
here nor there. Bless me I Grace writes me a
very pretty and proper letter now and then,
about once a year or so ; but she never hinted
all this. What can be done, I wonder? I
must ask my brother. Hugh is a wise man, of
common, sound sense. Thank goodness ! there
never was any genius in our family ; and I don't
hear there's any sign of it in poor Lydia's chil-
dren. Mrs. Jessop— is that the name P Why,
Mrs. White, surely that is the very woman who
made such a fuss at Steel and Barker's ! Ah,
now I think of it, it must be the same ; a shock-
ing person ! Oh, my poor dear Lydia's blessed
children ! Well, well, Hugh is a man of com-
mon sense 1"

The consequence of all this was — on second
thoughts, it had better be deferred till the next
chapter.

HOME TRIALS. 147

CHAPTEEX.

Summer seemed to have passed away sud-
denly. Several days' rain and wind hurried the
already touched leaves to their end. The grass-
plot was strewn with them, bright even now, and
giving a warm tint to the earth. Dahlias nodded
their proud heads and fell, ruthlessly snapped
off. Chrysanthemums were "looking up" in
all the pride of bud and leaf, ready to come out
and shine as autumn beauties ; when the pre-
sent storm should cease. Nearly all the later
harvest was saved, but not quite. For such as
remained unstacked, there was grave consulta-
tion and anxious fears.

" It has stopped raining," Grace thought to
herself, as she looked out wistfully at the damage
done to the garden. " I should like to go to
the wood and gather some moss for my plants."

As she doubted whether she might so far
venture without risk of that kind of notice she
had learned to dread and shrink from so much,
that by degrees she gave up everything that
might possibly provoke it, Grace thought she

148 HOME TBIALS.

beard wheels in the front ; bat as her window
did not look out that way, she only waited;
and meanwhile she watched the capricious,
fitful dance of the yellow and brown leaves, as
they swept up with sudden violence, and then
floated on, pitching one here and another there,
while one fresh from its twig occasionally sailed
down, and alighted as if on purpose by its
side. Grace smiled, remembering a childish
fancy of her own about these autumn leaves,
when it was no difficult matter to believe tbem
gifted with life and thought, and she had ima-
gined them complaining to each other of their
fall.

" Miss Grace ! please, miss, there's a lady come
in a fly; and she says she is come to see Miss
Grace Bracy, and no one else ; and she wouldn't
go into the drawing-room, but told me to find
you and tell you."

" Who is it, Anna ?"

"I'm sure I don't know; didn't say her
name. Queer kind of body, I doubt," said
Anna, in a pet.

Grace came out on the stairs, and took a
peep at the figure standing in the hall beside a
large, old-fashioned carpet-bag. She knew her
at once, and with a feeling of joy, long a stranger!

HOME TBIALS. 149

she leapt down stairs, clearing two or three at a
bound.

u Oh, Aunt Cissy ! Fancy your coming !
Did you write P does father know ?"

"Indeed I did not," said the aunt, after
kiHHing Grace ; " I thought I might reckon on
a welcome in my poor sister's own house ; at all
events from you, my dear girl. I h$d my own
reasons for undertaking such a journey, and in
Mich weather too; and my brother Hugh— he
too advised my coming at once. So I took just
a day to arrange my affairs, packed up, just a
change, and ordered a steady fly from the inn.
Ten miles, they call it ; but, my dear, I had for-
gotten the bills. I felt much alarmed ; but the
driver was very civil, and assured me his hone
was very strong. So — here I am. Will you
order some little refreshment for the man and
his horse P At least, it strikes me it would be
but hospitable, eh P"

Grace was running to the kitchen to give the
order, when she remembered, that any order
from her was resented as interference. With a
blank face, she therefore spoke to Anna, begging
her to apeak to Mrs. Jessop about it.

M She's out," Anna answered in her blunt

way. "Cook can manage. Sharp as some

o2

150 VOICE TBIALS.

folks be, cook can find a mouthful for a friend ;
and bless you, she wasn't long in speaking
neither. Seems they be acquaintance."

" Yes, indeed," put in Aunt Cissy, " cook is
one of our town; but now, my dear, if you
think proper, I shall be happy to take off my
bonnet and shawl. I am not used to travelling ;
I am a very stay-at-home person."

Grace could scarcely refrain from smiling at
the long journey this ten miles' drive seemed
to be to this old aunt. She answered cheerfully,

" You are indeed. You haven't been to see
us for — how long is it, Aunt Cissy ?"

" I don't know indeed, my dear. So this is
Cross Farm? Well, and a very nice and
proper dwelling it appears to be."

And the old lady looked out of window, and
then round the room, with a quiet but eager
scrutiny.

Finding that Mr. Bracy and Mrs. Jessop
were out, Miss Banks wished to see the house.
She was much pleased with everything, and
amused her niece very much by her curiosity
and awe together, about Mr. Bracy's experi-
ment room. It was locked as usual, and Grace
said her father allowed no one to enter. Miss
Banks accordingly stooped to try and gain a

POME TBIALB. 151

peep through the key hole. When she drew
back it was with a long sigh. " I don't see
any flames or any machines.' 4 And she ex-
plained afterwards, that very strange stories of
Mr. Bracy's doings had got about. It was use-
less for Grace to try and tell here about the
electric machine— Aunt Cissy could not under-
stand She only knew that her poor dear de-
parted sister Lydia, had once told her with
tears, of her husband's ways, and said it would
end in bringing them all to destruction, and
although there could not be found a more sensi-
ble and clever man than her brother Hugh,
he never meddled with such outlandish affairs.

" And now my dear, do you guess the reason
of my visit P" Aunt Cissy said, after resting
for a little in Grace's own room.

" Was it not to see us ?"

" Yes, but something more too ! Grace, my
dear, you look like a sensible girl; indeed, I
never heard that any of you had any of your
father's genius ..."

" No, not one," Grace said sadly.

"God be thanked 1" exclaimed the aunt.
"You are old enough now to know what is
what. Now you see, we Banks don't forget
your poor mother, nor do we wish to. forsake

152 HOKE TBIALS.

her children ; but we have always been in trade,
and our fathers and grandfathers before us. We
like it, we are even proud of it, and had rather
keep in our own proper place, than push our-
selves out of it . . . A'hem . . . well, I was going
to observe, that this is by no means a common
feeling. On the contrary, people get ashamed
of their own position, and try to leave it, and
be called gentry. I have observed no good ever
follow this. Not that I mean to blame your
father in that respect. He came of an old
country family I know, and if he in his hot*
headed youth, chose to despise it, there came a
day when he desired it again. He has pros-
pered too ; and then we heard of your sister,
what a gay, grand lady she was. And so we
all agreed, a line was drawn, not of our doing,
and Hugh and Sarah not wishing discontent
and envy to fall on their family, we settled to
keep aloof, and not meddle till such times as
any of you might need us.

" My dear," she resumed after a long pause,
" It strikes me and Hugh too, that the time is
come. We hear that you lead a forlorn life in
this house, and that misfortune and trouble
have divided your family. We have heard too
of— of ... a certain person — eh, you under-

HOME TBIALS. 153

stand ?" she said lowering her voice and nodding
her head. " I see you do. In fact we know
something of her, more than she would wish
perhaps. And we have heard very creditable
accounts of you and your quiet conduct, and. so
Hugh, your uncle and his wife, your aunt, and
I may say, all their children, said, * Now, Aunt
Cissy, this is one of your own bits of work.
You must go and make yourself very agreeable,
and get Mr. Bracy's consent for Grace to come
and visit us.' So, here I am, and if you con*
sent, I intend to try what I can do. Eh P what
do you say? You're not too proud to visit
your mother's folks, though they are not
'gentry ?'"

" Aunt Cissy, it would be too good. I
must not think of it. I should like it better
than any other thing. Do you think he will
let me go P Perhaps he will, for I am no use
now — none."

And Grace's tears began to flow a little, as
she thought of the being one of a happy family
party, instead of the lonely, dull life she had
lately led.

Aunt Cissy found a pleased listener, to her
endless descriptions of Hugh's children and all
their virtues. The simple account she gave of

154 HOME TBIALS.

their lives, seemed to Grace like one of her own
dreams, and she quite dreaded to hear the
sounds of preparation for tea, so wrapt was she
in Aunt Cissy's wonderful stories.

" You see, having six daughters, Hugh and
his wife thought it very hard to deny this one,
if her wish was so very strong. They might
spare her, as they said, for closer devotion to
Gob's work. It was clear, some one must rise
up and do it. So after a long proving time, and
a trial as a visitor, Lucy was allowed to become
one of the Sisters. She comes home always
once or twice a year, and is so happy, and we
all go and see her. Dear girl, she is so good,
and brings a blessing on us all I think."

" How I should like to see the place !" Grace
sighed out.

" And so you shall, my dear. Tou asked if
the rules were strict. Pretty well. They must
be so, of course ; but it all comes easy, Lucy
says. First she found the dress odd,rather. Now
she likes it, and would not change for anything.
It is very simple, and all black and grey, with a
close crimped white cap ; and out of doors, a
cloak and hood, and a large bonnet and veil.
They do a great deal of good, especially among
the rude, rough people in the shipping yards.

HOME TRIALS. 155

Every where they may be seen, wherever there
is distress or sickness, and never do they meet
with any insult or rude behaviour. The Clergy-
man . . • • but hark! Is that your father's
voice ?"

It was, and Grace's flushed face soon faded
into its usual paleness, while the aunt care-
fully pinned on, a funny, elaborate cap of old-
fashioned lace and white love-ribbon, in which
she desired to please her formidable brother-in-
law. She believed that great tact and skill
would be required to gain her point, but she
nodded encouragement and hope to Grace as
die went down stairs, and Grace felt how very
nice it was to touch some one so kind and
loving.

If Grace had been less anxious, she must
have been amused at Aunt Cissy's efforts to
please, mingled with her natural honest sincerity,
and disapproval of Mrs. Jessop. The latter was
patronising and rather contemptuous, and Mr.
Bracy more gracious in his reception of his
wife's sister, than might be expected. After
tea, the four little ones were asked for, and ap-
peared with Mrs. Jessop to look red and shy, or
amused and rather pert, at this, to them, new
aunt.

160 HOME TRIALS.

Grace bowed lower over her work, as she
heard her ask Mr. Bracy to grant her five
minutes' talk, and saw them leave the room
together. Her heart beat fast. If he should
say no ! And yet till an hour or two ago, such
a prospect had never been imagined. She never
dreamt of visiting her mother's relations, though
she had sometimes wished to know the young
cousins, in spite of Judith's jokes and sneers
about them. Then this Sisters' Home, her own
first cousin being one of them, was what «he
had scarcely even dreamt of. Who knows how
fast or how far her thoughts had gone in it
when she was roused again to real, present life,
and its hopes and fears, by hearing her father
ask Mrs. Jessop to come to him. What could
that be for P Must her leave be obtained even
for Grace to leave the house? And very
quickly fell all the bright fancies of a moment
before. Mrs. Jessop was so determined to
punish and oppose her, that if she had a word
to say, it must be a refusal. It was very hard
— very. Happy, happy cousins, who from Aunt
Cissy's account had always had so happy and
peaceful a home 1 . . .

" Well, what are you looking so dismal for ?"
inquired Mrs. Jessop sharply, as she stood in

HOME TBIALS. 157

front of Grace. "A good shaking would cer-
tainly do you good 1 'Tis enough to infect one
with your own dark spirit I declare ; and I am
sure the house will seem brighter when you are
away. Your papa has been consulting me about
your paying a visit to your mother's family.
There is, of course, much to be said against it.
Yet, I have advised it. One thing is, as long
as you mope and shut up here, you can't have a
chance of marrying, and there you will see . . ."

" That would be my last reason for wishing
to go. I do not think of marriage," Grace said.

" Nonsense. If you don't, you ought to, for
your father's sake. It is hard on him to keep
you always — very! I told him, I insinuated
just now, that it is high time for you to be
thinking of settling, and I believe there are one
or two young cousins, and your uncle is thriving
in his trade."

"Please don't talk so, or I never shall go
there. I couldn't!"

** It is doubly incumbent on you," Mrs. Jes-
sop went on, not heeding her interruption, " to
marry respectably after Judith's downfall — her
sad folly !"

** Why, have you heard ? Do you know any-
thing ? Is it possible that Bhe has written—

158 HOME TBIALS.

that father has heard and not told me ?" Grace
exclaimed.

" This much I knew before I came here. All
the world knows that she is living with the gay
baronet. But, no, she has not written that I
know of. As yet she has had no need, I sup-
pose. But she is mistaken, if she thinks, when
her hour comes, as it will, that her disobedience
will be forgotten or forgiven. Your father ex-
presses himself firmly and fairly. He says that
those of his children, who have chosen to set up
their own opinions, and defy his authority, are
no longer his to care for. So take you care,
Grace! For quiet as you seem, I shouldn't
wonder, if there was a hitch yet, which you will
come to breaking ! You have your warning at
all events. And now if you go to these rela -
tions, mind that your father has his own ideas.' 9

Grace sighed, but made no attempt at an
answer. Mr. Bracy and Miss Banks joined
them, and their going on the morrow was dis-
cussed and settled.

While Aunt Cissy prosed on in her low and
monotonous voice, her crossed hands folded on
her lap in their huge armour of gloves, her
white muslin neckerchief so firmly folded on
her bosom and confined with a round gold pin.

HOME TBIALS. 159

her wonderful shaped cap, Grace almost be-
lieved she was dreaming, for Aunt Cissy spoke
of things altogether new to her as facts of real
life. Very simple and quaint was the old lady's
manner of talking of her brother's family and
concerns. The eldest girl was engaged to be
married, she said, to a young sea-faring man,
now on a voyage to the West Indies ; one of
her nephews was to be a sailor too. She spoke
of the twin babies, the glory of the house, of
schools for the neglected sailors' children, even
for the men themselves, in which Bhe, and her
nieces, and her brothers, all worked and taught ;
and she spoke of the " Home " — how it had first
been thought of and brought about — of the un-
kind distrust and opposition it had met, but also,
and more, of the hearty good will and sympathy,
and the undoubted fruits, already apparent.

Mrs. Jessop listened, and asked a question,
or uttered an exclamation, suppressing several
yawns, by the way. Mr. Bracy read his book,
and only showed that he heard a word, by a
sneer, or a half-uttered pshaw ! Grace drank
in each word, and seemed as if in a new world.
When she went to bed, she thought it was too
happy to be true, and when she awoke, it was
with a keen sense of hope and expectation, very

160 HOKE TRIALS.

new to her and very sweet. Her only regret!
was the not having time to call and see the
Vicar and Aunt Betsy, but to the latter she
would write. As it chanced, they passed Mr.
Carlton, and Grace checked the driver, feeling
it was to be a real good-bye. Before she re-
turned, would he not be gone ? He was pleased
at her prospects of happiness, and bade her
mention his name to the Lady who presided at
the Home, a particular friend of his own, he said.
It was a cordial, earnest farewell. She was
one of his flock, for whose soul he must render
some account, and from,circumstances f and , her
own nature, the bend had been peculiarly, near
between them. But he was gqing. . It remained
only now for h^r to gather up all the wise and
kind teaching he had ever given. If any per-
plexity or trouble as she had before -known, was
prepared for her in the next six- months, he
would not be near, to guide or to help. Grace
thought of this, and it saddened her for the
first part of her drive. But her aunt's remarks,
and her own admiration of the country, soon
claimed all her attention. At last, there was a
town and a church steeple seen in the distance.
That was Pordbridge, and then the long bridge
came in view, and the masts and the numerous

SOME TBXALB. 161

boots and larger Teasels, all new to Grace, who
bad never left her home for even this distance,
since she could remember.

" Do you live alone f" she asked, all at once
wondering if she was going to Uncle Hugh's
house or not.

* Yes, I have a small place of my own. It is
best, though I should be weleome with them.
My maid, my bird, my cat and dog, and myself.
And you are my gueBt at first : not long, I dare
say. They'll be sure to claim you. But it is op-
posite their house. We are always together. See,
I knew they would be looking out," and she
pointed to a large house, with a raised verandah,
on which stood two or three people, waving
handkerchiefs.

A grave man with a broad white beaver hat,
came out, and crossing the round, pebble-paved
street, stood to open the carriage door. Aunt
Cissy said, "How do you do, Hugh; here is
Grace." And she found herself lifted out,
looked art; gravely, and kissed deliberately by
him. He had a brown, wrinkled face, and was
oddly dressed. He said " God bless you, my
niece. You are rather like your mother," and
then gave his attention to % his sister, whose
words came faster, so much jshe had to tell and

p2

162 HOKE TBIAX&

to ask, and bo strange and unusual was a visit
from home to her. One would have thought
she had returned from a voyage to America, by
the welcome and the care bestowed by the old
servant, a sort of ditto— only some ten years
younger— of Aunt Cissy herself. And before
Grace had time to look round her, there was
quite a crowd as it seemed, such a hugging,
and talking, and kissing, from various cousins,
of different ages, who had run across, without
bonnets, to welcome the guest.

It struck Grace as very odd that all this
warm-hearted welcome should have been so long
neglected ; that so many kind hearts had always
lived only ten miles away !

CHAPTEE XL

Grace was led away by her cousin Cecilia to
see her room and take off her things. When
alone together the girls were shy and strange,
casting side glances of curiosity and observation,
and skirting the merest commonplace topics
with great formality.

HOMB TBIAXS. 163

"When they returned to the parlour, Aunt
Cissy was full of her visit and her success.
That it was a step of grave importance she be-
lieved, and her hearers too. The mother,
M Aunt Sarah," smiled graciously, and expressed
her gladness at the success, and hoped Grace
would soon look stronger, and would not be
bored by so many noisy cousins.

She insisted on dividing parties for the first
evening, and caused some disappointment by
carrying off ail but two. To-morrow, Aunt
Cissy and Grace were to come to them ; and, if
fine, they were to go out in a boat ; since Uncle
Hugh had business to transact with a brig
which lay at anchor some way down the river.

Grace amused them by saying she had never
been in a boat, or seen a ship. There was
therefore plenty to see. and do ; for Fordbridge
was a brisk trading port, and famous for build-
ing ships of a certain class and tonnage. A
steamer went from thence to America every
month, another to Ireland. It was quite in the
world; and when Grace went to her uncle's
house, which looked out at the back on the
river and quay, she thought it a very gay and
amusing scene, and that she should never tire
of watching the motion of the little cutters, or

164 HOMB TBIALB.

the splash of the oars. The Bailors' songs, too,
and the rattle of the anchor chain struck her ;
whilst the beauty of the broad river and its op*
posite shore was also new and full of interest.

Nothing could be more different than the life
here and at her own home. Here there was so
much stir ; every one so busy and so bright too.
Her uncle was a punctual, energetic man of
business, and suffered no carelessness or neglect
around him. A strict rule pervaded the house-
hold, mingled with much comfort, enjoyment,
and peace. Nothing approaching extravagance
or show, but plenty for all, and down to the
youngest, each one was expected to do his duty,
and had some regular and defined share of work.
The eldest son was his father's partner; the
second was now in London at a first-rate che-
mist's, having a strong liking for that pursuit;
the third boy, yet at school, was to be a sailer,
and soon won Grace's heart by his merry ways.

The eldest daughter, who was second in the
list, was called Christian ; pretty, small, and a
little prim, but very gentle, and yet fervent ra-
ther than warm in manner. She was to many
Captain Cart wright, when he returned from this
voyage. She wore some curious bracelets of
foreign berries, and had many a rare and curious

HOKE TBIALfl. 165

treasure brought by her lover from far-off
lands. Next to her came William. Then Lydia,
a noisy, chattering, high-spirited girl, always
being rebuked in a mild way for heedlessness,
but never out of temper. She was not pretty
at all, but had an agreeable countenance ; and
might have looked nicer, if she had dressed
better. But she was rather fond of finery,
which was not approved in the family ; and be-
tween the somewhat rigid taste of her father
and mother, and her own vain attempts at being
in the fashion, it was a failure;.

^ext to her was Lucy, the one who lived at the
Home, evidently Aunt Cissy's ppt and darling.
Then came the chemist, Harvey ; and next to
him.^as a wee-looking, blue-eyed maiden, the
one .wjho ha>d been, so shy with Grace on her
firpt arrival, but who since always quietly got
by her side, and watched to anticipate her
wished which she t was quiqk to read. But she
was very silent, and. sometimes a little sad, or
seemed so, in comparison to the rest. Her
name was Cecilia, but she had not got the ab-
breviation which had been given to her aunt •
and the only attempt at it was in one of her
father's attempts at being jocose, — an attempt
very ludicrous, and apt to remind one of the

166 HOME TBIiXS.

saying of the cow in a china shop. He would
stroke his daughter's golden hair, and call her
" Celia."

Grace fancied she was the one who got most
smileB and caresses ; and Grace herself, if she
had a preference in these early days, thought it
must be for Cecilia.

The schoolboy Patrick was followed by an-
other sister Jane, and then came the twins, now
just five years old. Their names were Prudence
and Patience ; and they were so pretty and so coy
in their very plain, but exquisitely clean frocks
and pinafores, that Grace wished she could draw
well enough to put them in a picture, somewhat
different from one which hung over the chimney
piece, intending to represent them, hand in
hand ; a specimen of painting by a town amateur
performer, of which Mr. Banks was rather proud.

Sometimes Grace was somewhat perplexed
what to say in this way, for her own father's
taste was extraordinarily good in all matters of
art, and her own natural taste refined ; whereas
it did not seem indigenous to the Banks' family,
and Uncle Hugh especially was rather fond of
collecting curiosities — certainly more curious
than beautiful — and he was in the habit of hold-
ing forth on them, and giving hiB judgment on

HOME TBIALS. 167

painting, &&, with great unction and a quiet
self-trust, accustomed to take the lead and pass
judgment, from the merits of a design for a
Church window to a figure-head for a ship, or
from the town politics to matters of Church and
State.

He was keen, sensible, and reflecting, and had
made his own way to a very creditable position
as a townsman and successful tradesman. He
was good to the poor, and kind and upright in
his dealings with every one. He had always
taken his place in the town government as
alderman and even mayor.

He had been churchwarden for years, and in
a quiet way believed he was a great support to
the Clergyman. Fortunately, he had served his
apprenticeship as a young man under a wise
ruler; but the old Sector was gone, and the
successor was more good and well-intentioned
than discreet. Things had not gone so smoothly
of late, and it was really necessary for the
churchwarden to be staunch, and .oppose the
factious opposition which arose. Mr. Banks
shone in these difficult times, and having a good
deal of weight and influence among the mer-
chants and men of his own standing, he had it
in his power to do a good deal. All his old

170 HOME TBIALS.

Cissy said over and over again, that when she
married Bracy, she was a pretty, happy girl that
any man might have been proud to win for his
wife; and here her voice became harsher, and
Grace had been glad to turn the subject; for
greatly as she had suffered from them, she al-
ways winced at any mention of her father's
faults. She liked to go the walks, where Aunt
Cissy told her her mother went. She liked to
see and touch the bed, still her aunt's own, which
the two sisters had always shared. Every little
remembrance and association of her mother —
every trace of her in her maiden life — was dear
to Grace; and tears often came in her own
quiet room, when she thought how complete
had been the estrangement that her marriage
had caused. How much a small portion of the
kindliness of her own people would have soothed
and softened her mother's troubled lot! and
the cause of all this — that was a very painful
thought.

She wondered more and more at the readiness
of her father's consent for her to come now.
She could not understand it. She did not like
either to speak of it, for she found that Aunt
Cissy always put on such a knowing look when
she alluded to it, and even hinted that perhaps

HOMB TBIALS. 171

her visit and proposition had been very oppor-
tune ; " but we shall see."

" See what ?" Grace thought ; and then an
undefined vague presentiment of evil gathered
on her heart, and made her nervous about post
time; though she said she did not expect a
letter. It came between her and her new hap-
piness, and caused remarks and inquiries, till
she felt ashamed, and feared her mind had been
so long bent one way, towards trouble — that it
had lost the power of turning to pleasure as it
ought. It was very perverse, but she could not
shake off anxiety and dread. Aunt Cissy ob-
served that she was not so happy as at first, and
fidgeted a little, having set her heart, as she
said, on a perfect cure for Grace's low spirits*
Then she proposed that the promised visit to
the Home should be fixed.

It had been as yet delayed, as some building
was going on, which made it inconvenient for
them to receive visitors. But now they were to
go. A fly was ordered, as it was too long a
walk for Aunt Sarah, though pleasant for the
young ones. The day after the morrow was
fixed ; and Grace felt that one of her secret and
cherished dreams was to be shown her as real
life.

172 HOME TBIAL8.

. To those who lead active and happy lives, in
which pleasure takes its turn with duty, it is
very difficult to understand the power which
imagination has over those who live alone, with-
out sympathy, and with no other means of en-
joyment open to them than their own thoughts.
Cut off and debarred, first, from any share of
the amusements common to her age, and then
from even its daily duties — finding real life, as
far as she saw it, very dreary and painful —
Grace, still young, was driven back to the inner-
most recesses of her own mind — in a world of
her own creating. Many bright visions had she
seen there, but as sh^e grew older and more
familiar with disappointment, she unconsciously
grew to feel that except in imagination, good-
ness, such as she had dreamt of, could not exist
in this world.

Now for the first time brought into contact
with happy and high-principled persons like her-
self in age and station, she was astonished and
incredulous. Every day she had a feeling that
she was deceiving herself; that all would slide
away, like the scenes in a theatre. This made
her fearful and timid, shrinking back, when her
first impulse was eager delight and admiration.

It gave, unknown to herself, a cold touch to

HOME TKAIiB. 173

her manner in her intercourse with her cousins,
specially with Cecilia, the one Bhe most admired,
and who came the most forward to her. Grace
paused to think, if it was her own fancy or the
real qualities of her cousin which charmed her.
But as day by day strengthened the impression,
a new sense of joy sprang up ; and Grace was
surprised at her own power of loving, for she
had believed every feeling of the kind had died
away and completely perished.

The visit to the Home was altogether one of
the marked days of Grace's life. She was dumb
with pleasure and delight at the look of the place
and the Sisters, and foil of earnest desire to hear
more of the work. 'The quiet, orderly cheerfulness
which stamped every thing, from the neat, sunny,
private Bitting-room belonging to the lady sis-
ters, and the long school-room filled with orphans,
and the beautifully fitted-up chapel, in which
they all attended evening prayers. It ail looked
like a " Home," too happy, Grace thought, for
this earth.

She and Cecilia kept together in the walk
back, talking of it without reserve, Grace's
cheeks flushing with excitement at all she heard.
" But here comes Mr. Grant, the Chaplain and
Head of the Sisterhood. He is the life and soul

Q2

174 HOME TBDLLS.

of the work at present. He can tell you better
than any one else all about it, and about such
institutions in general."

As Cecilia spoke, they saw a tall, slight man
approaching them. He stopped to speak to
Cecilia ; and on hearing of their visit, and that
Grace had been pleased, and wished to know
some facts, he turned round and accompanied
them to the beginning of the street. Mr.
Grant had a sister — a Mrs. Marks — a very agree-
able, even winning person ; except that she was
one of those people who are always possessed with
one idea — in common speech have a "hobby.' 1
She had entered with all her heart into the sub-
ject of Sisterhoods; and finding her brother
quietly and in his silent way working at esta-
blishing the Home at Fordbridge, she espoused
the cause.

At first the plan found a great deal of oppo-
sition. It set people up in armB, and fearing
they hardly knew what. Mrs. Marks' s rather
injudicious treatment of the subject — her urging
it on every one, and exalting it as the first of
duties, did harm. And Mr. Grant had to beg
her, for the sake of the cause, to moderate her
zeal.

Meanwhile his earnest, quiet perseverance,

HOME TBIALS. 175

• *

and his conscientious attention to every other
kind of work and duty, had the effect of lessen-
ing alarm, and increasing confidence. And then
60s prospered the work itself in spite of all
talk for and against it : and Mr. Grant was con-
tent for it to win its own way and not he popular.
He felt it had a blessing, and could afford pa-
tience to overcome prejudice in time.

Silent as he was by nature, and little given to
speak much about what lay nearest his heart, he
was pleased! at so eager a listener and inquirer
as Grace was.

He told her the rise and growth, and the
purpose of the Institution, and promised to in-
troduce his sister to her, with thfe caution, that
Mrs. Marks was too much of a partizan to be
considered a fair adviser, as to who should, and
who should not seek to work there.

Mrs. Marks received Grace with open arms,
and soon found a way to Grace's heart, who
confided all her wishes and her difficulties ; Mrs.
Marks assuring her that she was made, cut out,
for the work; and adding to the girl's secret
longing to be there, tenfold.

" It will end in Mrs. Marks persuading Grace
to be a Sister," said Lydia Banks.

" Well, and it might be a happy thing for

176 Hbita TRIALS.

her. But What will her father say ?" said Aunt
Cissy.

But many a Walk and talk planned by Mrs.
Marks and Grace fell to the ground by a aum-
mohs coming for Gtiice to return home the next
day. Briefly she was told of her father's intended
mbitiftge with Mrs. Jeefrop. Grace was desired
to come home and help in preparing for this
evefct. The wedding was to take place imme-
diately, and Grace was to be left in charge of
the house and children, while the bride and
bridegroom had a month's travelling.

CHAMEB in.

It was with a very heavy heart that Grace
drove up to the front door of her home. Yet
it was a truly lovely day — Bummeryet lingering,
and as it were, shaking hands with autumn.
Bright sunshine felling on the richly-tinted
leaves, and bringing out the brilliant greens of
the mosses, while fewer leaves only more dis-
tinctly showed the outline of each bitach and
twig. Grace, though apt to dwell much on

HOME TRIALS. 177

■

such beauties, hardly noted it. She slightly
shivered, as she glanced timidly and anxiously
at the windows and the door which stood open.
She felt as if the pleasant scenes and all the
bright thoughts which had been her's yesterday,
had vanished, and that she had really only been
dreaming, and now awoke to real life.

" Well," Mrs. Jessop greeted her. " Can't
say your visit has done much for you. Bless
me, don't bring such a gloomy face here. Don't
want it, I can tell you. 'Twill be for your in-
terest to look pleasant, and meet your father
with another countenance."

Grace tried to do so, with the memory of
Uncle Hugh and his daughters strong before
her. She was surprised and touched by her
father's kissing her. He seemed somewhat ill
at ease, she thought, and awkward. All dinner-
time it was the same. He was not rough or
angry, but silent, and as if his thoughts were
far away.

Mrs. Jessop was the one talker, in a loud,
self-sufficient, vulgar tone. Nothing was said
of Grace's visit. She asked herself if it was a
real fact that she had been there at all. There
was much to be done, much to hear from Mrs.
Jessop; and Grace's time was entirely occu-

17d HOltt ^TElALS.

pied, so tbfet except when she retired for the
night, too tired for anything hut sleep, she
literally had no time for dwelling on the past,
except indeed in that way in which we can
carry about the sense of some great good — some
great blessing, which has not yet come in to our
daily lives, but is a treasure unfolded, safe hi
our own heart's keeping, for some future hour.
The Wedding was a quiet affair. Mr. Bracy
insisted on this. Miss Lee and Miss Stafford
were the only guests, besides the Clergyman—
not the Vicar — he was gone ; but Mr. Stone,
his temporary successor. It was the first time
Grace had seen Miss Patty Lee since Harry
Vane left. She saw At once how little that was
forgotten or forgiven. Miss Lee's hand was
both stiff and cold when she offered it, and her
look full of angry reproach, which Grace but
too well understood ; and though hurt, she was
drawn towards Miss Lee, and could if she had
dared, have thanked her for her constant and
partial love for Harry. It opened this wound
afresh — not that it was ever healed ; but Grace
had persuaded hertelf that she had given it all
up, and though she looked forward to the possi-
bility of hearing of his reform, as her one great
happiness, she knew she had hurt and offended

3QJCB TBIAX8. 179

him too much, for him tp seek bar again, even
if she desired it. And did she P . • •

This question w*s stirred by the sight of Miss
Lee, tmd the train of associations it pwofce. It
returned again that night when all hustle was
over, the company gone, and Grace was. left
alone with the servants, to pat pw&y the best
china and glass, &c 7 and fulfil her step,
qaother's repeated injunctions as tp domestic
affairs. The thought came, but it startled her,
as if it was something forbidden and wrong.
No ! Harry was nothing — never could be other-
wise than nothing to her now I And then she
forced herself to take a flight, and soon folded
her wings over the Home. That was hence-
forth to be her desire, her object in life.

The night before leaving, she had opened her
heart to Cecilia, and after telling the principal
points of her history, her cousin had entirely
agreed that Grace was just the very person
suitable for a Sister — marriage was of course
out of the question. Having given up Harry
from duty, she could never feel free to marry
another, even if she could desire it ; and this to
both young girls appeared impossible. Grace
was even led on to describe him.

" Ah, how brave you are, Grace ! How could

180 HOME TBIALS.

you say * no ' to him ? Are you not afraid you
have driven' him to harm P No — I don't mean
that," she added hastily, frightened at the wild
look of horror in her friend' b eyes ; " yon were
right — quite right ! I respect you for it, dear ;
and it makes you so exactly the person to be a
Sister. If Mrs. Marks did but know — "

" Cecilia, please never tell her all I have told
you," said Grace. And Cecilia promised si-
lence.

Grace felt that this conversation, and the
sight of Miss Lee, had gone far to undo much
of her work. It had let in forbidden thoughts
and regrets : so she set herself, as a treat after
the strict performance of household work, to
study the tracts Mr. Grant had lent her.

She was pleased to act mistress in her home
again, and pleased to have her little sisters for a
time, though they were more unruly than before.
The servants liked it, especially the cook, who
had already given warning, and was to leave in
a month. " She couldn't stay on no how with
the missis," she said, " sorry as she was to leave
her old place, and a good one too."

After three rainy days, in which Grace's pa-
tience had been severely tried by the children,
she proposed a treat for the two elder ones and

HOME TBIALS. 181

herself — to go into the town for a little shop-
ping, and then to end with a visit on Aunt
Betsy.

In one of the shops Grace met Mrs. Eberley.
Knowing herself to be no favourite of that old
lady, — for Judith used to make a point of tell-
ing her sister all the remarks, good or bad, she
ever heard about her, — Grace coloured up, and
felt rather awkward. At first she hoped that
the lady did not recognise her, but Mrs. Eberley
turned back as she reached the door, and said,

" Are you not a Bracy P Ay, I thought so ;
not that you are like your father or sister. I
can't flatter you with any resemblance; but
that little thing there is a Bracy all over. So,
your father is married again, eh P And a wise
step, if he had but made a right choice. As
it is — umph— does he expect any one to call on
his bride ?"

And she stooped, and apparently paused for
an answer, her bright and questioning eyes
trying to gather the sense from Grace's coun-
tenance. Mrs. Eberley was very deaf, and
Grace's voice utterly failed as she strove to
reply.

"Tell him — tell your father I am sorry I
can't have the pleasure of either congratulating

182 HOME TBIALS.

him or noticing his wife. And, by the way,
have you heard from — from — your sister P"

Grace shook her head, whilst tears of shame
and distress filled her eyes.

" If you wish to hear of her, — and you ought
to know, for it's a moral lesson for every young
wilful girl — come to me. I will tell you."

And nodding her head, with fire in her eyes
and yet a half relenting look of kindness, Mrs.
Eberley rustled out of the shop.

" The great lady of Heathercombe — one pri-
vileged to say and do what she liked," as the
mistress of the shop very quietly observed to
Grace, noticing her trouble, and pitying her.

Glad to finish her shopping, and hoping for
the quiet comfort Aunt Betsy always gave, she
hastened to Miss Stafford's house. There, to
her great disappointment, she found visitors.
Harry Vane's father was there, with his gold
spectacles, poring over a closely written letter ;
and there sat Miss Fatty Lee, with ill-suppressed
exultation and triumph in every look and every
movement.

" You are engaged — I will come another day/*
Grace said, in a hesitating and timid way.

But Aunt Betsy drew her in, kindly pressing
her hand while she said,

HOME TRIALS. 183

" Mr. Vane came to read me a letter ; bat it
is finished. You must take off your things and
stay tea. I insist ! It will save me a walk, for
I must have seen you to-morrow."

Now Mr. Vane had never at all encouraged
his son's attachment for Grace. He had no-
thing to say against her, and even sometimes
allowed that marriage with a good girl might
steady the boy. But he was a proud old gentle-
man, reduced in life, but very proud and stiff
in his notions. He did not like Mr. Bracy in
any way, and considered his son was lowering
himself by the connection. Then Mrs. Bracy
— what a sawney, sickly, lackadaisical woman !
and her daughter was like her somewhat in ap-
pearance t no wife for a giddy-pate, poor, extra-
vagant fellow, like Harry. He set himself
against it ; and yet, when it was told him that
Harry had been "jilted," — that Grace had
broken off her engagement, — the poor old man,
sore-hearted and miserable, repenting his harsh
words, and longing to bring back his only child,
if he knew how, without compromising his own
dignity, turned round and vented his wrath and
vexation on the heartless girl who could so vex
)us boy ! Yes, he was unsteady, but so were
others. Why was she to set up for perfection ?

184 HOMJB TEIALS.

Why, it was an honour to her to be asked by
Harry. If he became reckless, his father knew
where would lie the blame, Ac., Ac.

Grace did not know all this ; but she knew
that Mr. Vane had not liked their attachment.
She never met him. Once or twice, she had
seen him in the Green Lane — that lane outside
Mr. Vane's field — and where she had parted
with Harry. It lay in the short cut to Cross
Farm, and Grace often passed it ; but when she
saw the poor old gentleman pacing slowly with
his arms tucked under his coat tails behind, she
managed to turn away before he had raised his
eyes.

This was their first meeting therefore. Mr.
Vane pushed back his spectacles, and gave a
very slight nod towards Grace, glancing sharply,
yet not directly, at her. He folded up the letter,
and clearing his throat vigorously, gave it to
Miss Lee. She received it with a smile, and
said, " Well !"

"Well! and — aB you say — good news, Miss
Lee. Fine field for young blood ! Space for all !
Yes, indeed, they do appear to be doing very
fairly indeed ! Has Mr. Bracy heard from his
son by this ship ?" He did not address Grace,
or even turn towards her.

HOME TRIALS, 185

" I don't know. I rather think not. John
does not correspond with your father, eh,
Grace P" said Miss Lee.

u I don't know .... I think — that is . . . ."

" Perhaps there is a letter by this ship, just
come in you see, my dear," suggested Aunt
Betsy, to relieve Grace's embarrassment.

"Yes, very likely. There are many letters
for my father at home," Grace said.

"And when do the * happy pair* return?"
asked Miss Lee, with a dry voice.

" Good heavens ! what could Bracy be about ?"
exclaimed Mr. Vane, rising from his seat. " Does
he know— do you suppose he can be aware— of
—of — the . . . ."

Miss Lee looked mysterious, and shook her
head. Aunt BetBy coloured up and grew fidgety,
and proposed that Grace should go into her
room, and take off her own and the little girls'
bonnets. They did so ; and when they returned
Mr. Vane was gone. Miss Lee was evidently
going to remain for tea. Aunt Betsy took the
children to see her parrot, and to cut up some
cake. While she was absent, Miss Lee said,
" It will not be very pleasant for you, I should
think, with this new stepmother."

" I hope it will. I think she is not unkind ;

e 2

186 HOME TBIALS.

and if-— if it makes father more happy and
cheerful . . . ."

" Shame upon him ! He should have had more
respect for your mother's memory. Though she
was a poor thing and tried his temper, she was
a worthy and respectable woman. With chil-
dren, too— a grown-up daughter — to bring such
a creature to his home .... All men are alike !"

Grace said nothing.

" Well !" Miss Lee said sharply, after a pause.
" I suppose you begin to regret your own prudish
conduct with poor Harry now ! You find sweet-
hearts don't grow on every bush— -especially such
as he is — and you see, if you had acted less sel-
fishly you would have been rewarded ! I always
said that boy would do well if once put in a fair
road. His old father was his hindrance. He is
making his fortune fast. Your brother, of course,
comes in for the profits ; though, as Harry pro-
vided the money, he is the great gainer. He
writes full of spirits, likes the climate and the
country, seems to have met some nice and kind
people — a retired officer and his family — very
musical the young ladies are, and their house
seems to lie most conveniently in the rotfd which
Harry has often to pass. I should not be sur-
prised to hear he was married any day. Harry is

HOME TEIALS. 187

domestic, and wild as he was, he has a loving
heart. I shall be very glad !" Miss Lee turned
to look at Grace, as she stopped from want of
breath. But Grace was looking intently out
of the window.

Presently she said in a very quiet, low, but
calm voice, " Does he say anything of John — I
mean, is there any chance of his marrying P It
would be such a comfort to hear it !"

" I don't know indeed. They both seem on
intimate terms with this family ; but Harry
writes chiefly of himself to me."

Another short pause ; and then Aunt Betsy
came back, followed by two happy and eager
children who had warmed under her genial in*
fluence. During tea, Aunt Betsy asked about
Grace's visit to her relations, and this brought
forth an animated description of The Home, and
Grace's opinion that Aunt Betsy was the person
of all others to go there.

" Good patience ! What next ! The world is
turning upside down, I do believe ! Betsy, for
goodness' sake, don't be listening to such stuff. I
mistrust you! You are as bad as any giddy,
sentimental girl sometimes. And if this is the
good you have gained by going on a visit, you
had better have stayed at home, in my opinion,"

188 HOME TBIAL8.

Miss Lee said sternly. And turning to Grace
at the same time, she rose, and said she must be
going.

" Has Grace frightened you away ?" laughed
Aunt Betsy.

"Well, not exactly; but I am going to see
about the commissions this boy has given me.
It is all easy enough to get the things, but how
on earth I am to get them safely conveyed to
him, 16,000 miles, is a puzzle !"

" I think — I fancy . . . ." but Grace stopped
short from shyness.

u What is your fancy ? Speak out !"

" Couldn't Uncle Hugh help you P He has
so much to do with ships."

" To be sure I" said Aunt Betsy.

" TJmph ! Not a bad idea 1 More sense than
that twaddle about Sisters and Homes. Good
evening ! I hope you and your father don't ex-
pect me to be coming to your house. I went to
the wedding out of consideration for — for ....
in fact Bracy is a kinsman, and .... But after
one formal call, I can't and I won't have
anything to do with her; and if he gives
you an opportunity, tell him so. Good evening
all !" said Miss Lee.

" What is it, Aunt Betsy ? Pray tell me the

HOMS TRIALS. 189

real truth about it. It is best to know all!"
Grace said with trembling earnestness.

So sending the little girls away with the ser-
vant to give Polly some sugar — when the tea-
things were cleared away — Aunt Betsy drew
the poor girl close to her, kissed her, and said
kind, fond words, and then told her something —
all that was needful for her to know of her step-
mother's history. It was a bad, but not un-
common one.

"It was very, very wrong in him. I don't
see how he can expect you to live in the house.
Do you think he does ?"

"I think so — I don't know; he would not
miss me, for — for — I never have suited him.
But ought I not to stay ? Ought I to leave my
little sisters, when poor mother said so much to
me about them P O, mother, mother !" And
not able to keep up any longer, she buried her
face in the hard, cold, horte-hair sofa cushion,
and cried bitterly.

All her calm, subdued manner was gone*
She turned, with a vehemence Aunt Betsy had
never seen in her, saying,

" Tell me, what ought I to do ? May — may
I go ? Will it be right ? O, would to God
I might ! If I could but go away and work — "

190 HOKE TBIALS.

" Where would you go, Grace ?"

" Anywhere ! I could teach — as a servant —
or — or — why shouldn't I go to the Home ? I
know I might, even if father wouldn't pay the
money asked. They do sometimes excuse it,
and I would work double and cost very little.
May I go P"

" We must consider — we must think it over.
It is a difficult case. Perhaps your work may lie
at home, more than ever now. Your father may
learn to come to you, Grace — and then those
little ones! You could hardly leave them to
her ?"

< " But what can I do, unless she lets me ?
Before this, she was very jealous of my saying
a word, and kept them much from me. Now —
of course, she is absolute mistress. What can
I do then ?"

"Still you may do much. Indirectly you
will influence the children and the household.
Your presence may be a restraint on her. Be-
sides, after all, who knows ? She may be led
into a better path now. We must try to make
it easy for her to begin a new life. I am not
afraid of you, Grace. She can do you no harm.
I hope you may, through God's help, do her
good."

HOME TRIALS. 191

Grace shook her head in sad despair.

* After all, my dear girl, there may be a path
opening to you, of very real work, quite as full
of self-devotion as in the Home. You are gen*
tie and patient, firm too ; you must cultivate
faith in yourself, and quietly, who can say what
you may not do? Now that her position is
certain, she will not care to be governess. She
will be only too glad to give it up to you, I be-
lieve. So — how much will rest with you for
these little creatures ! No, Grace, my dear, the
more I look at it, the clearer I see that under
certain conditions, your place is at home, and
that never before had you work so clearly given
you as now. If things go on, as we may surely
expect and trust they will, you must not leave,
while your father allows you to remain. I know
you are a good girl, anxious to do your duty ;
so I speak plainly, I don't say it is a very
bright prospect. It is full of trouble and diffi-
culty, but it may turn out better than you and
I suppose. It is good to be sure of one's duty,
to see the way clearly . . . ."

" But I don't, quite. If what you tell me is
true — why, am I right to live with — with her,
when I refused to live with poor Harry, who
surely was not half so bad ? It seems so incon-

192 HOME TBIALS.

sistent, Aunt Betsy 1 It is encouraging wrong
doing — it is hypocrisy; for now I know the
truth, I can't pretend to like or respect her —
not even — as my father's wife—as the mistress
of the house ! O I can't live with her ! Is it
likely she is really changed P And if you only
knew — if you had heard her coarse way of talk-
ing — her views ...01 always shuddered at it I
But now — now — Aunt Betsy ! think, would mo-
ther have liked it ? She who so abhorred even
a rude word !" . . .

" No, my dear ! But would she wish you to
leave her little ones, so young they may learn
anything?"

" Then they should leave with me. We must
all go. Father must see the necessity of it, or
I surely can work and maintain us all."

" It might just possibly come to that, but
not yet. No, indeed, Grace, you must try what
can be done at home. For your father's sake,
even, you must not be in a hurry to go. Wait —
pause— judgment will be granted if we seek it.
I hope I have done well in telling you the truth."

" You can't doubt it, Aunt Betsy ?"

" Well— certainly you would have heard allu-
sions, and you are old enough to act. And I
always think it best to look truth fairly in the

HOME TRIALS. 193

face. We blunder sadly in trying to veil and
hide things, out of good motives. My dear, I
wish I could help you. I wish I could see a
happier face. All the light and the colour I
saw when you returned home, is gone again ;
and you were happy there, Grace P"

"O yes; I never shall be so happy again;
It is like a dream, a story ! I wish you knew
Cecilia. I hoped she might— but, O ! Aunt
Betsy, she will never be allowed to visit me !
No one will do so! Now I understand Mrs.
Eberley's words and looks! And poor, poor
Judith ! What a set we are, Aunt Betsy ! No
wonder Mr. Vane looked so proudly and scorn-
fully at me !" and her sickly smile made Miss
Stafford's heart ache.

" I don't think that was his feeling, my dear.
It was a little pride and triumph, which he can't
help showing; forgetting, poor old man, that no
one was so harsh or severe as himself. Grace,
my dear, in all this trouble — that is one good,
happy thought, isn't it ?"

"What?"

" That instead of our fears being realised, it
has pleased Gob to bless him. That both young
fellows, John and Harry, are doing well, in a,
double sense, as I believe they are."

s

194 HOME TRIALS.

" I'm glad of it !" Grace sighed out. Then
added, " Yes — thankful — for I did dread the ac-
counts so much, so terribly, that I feared to go
to sleep, for the dreams I had. Well, that is
spared me. I have not driven him to sin ; and
after all, he may live to thank me. Even he, had
he kept to his old feelings, would change now.
It is best as it is. I am glad neither of the
boys, John or Robert, are here ; though Eobert
must have known — guessed . . . ."

Miss Stafford was looking at Grace anxiously
trying to read her thoughts. Grace suddenly
looked up from the carpet and met this wistful
gaze. She blushed, and said, " Why do you look
at me, Aunt Betsy ? What are you thinking
ofP"

" I was wondering — forgive me, Grace— if you
had given up all — idea — hope of — ?"

"I know! I know what you mean! O,
Aunt Betsy! How can you ask me? You
know there is no hope— not an atom! I de-
stroyed it all myself. I did it — I killed it.
Don't ever look so again. Don't speak so.
You must not. Of course, I like to hear any
good news — any news. But beyond that, no-
thing. It is my rule not to speak — not to think.
Mother is dead ! That is dead ! More so ! for

HOME TBIALS. 195

I can and do think of her, and it does me good.
Cut • • • •

The door opened, and the servant said in a
flamed way, that a messenger was come from
Gross Farm, and Miss Bracy was wanted there
directly.

" Why, what is it ?" Grace started up, and
Aunt Betsy looked anxious. It was the gar-
dener's boy.

" Please, Miss, the Master and the Missis are
come back, and bid me seek and fetch you im-
mediate ; and if you please, 'tis going to rain,
and shall I fetch a fly P"

" No ; it will only be a shower ; I had rather
walk," said Grace, flushed and trembling, and
scarcely conscious of the offer, she accepted
Aunt Betsy's umbrella, hurried on her bonnet
and the children's, and with a sob, instead of a
word, received Aunt Betsy's tearful " Good-bye,
and God bless you !"

CHAPTEB XIII.

Thb quiet and almost absolute stillness which
Grace had left at Gross Farm was gone when

196 HOME TRIALS.

she returned ; having, during her walk, tried to
rouse all her courage and hopes for the dreaded
meeting. The house seemed full of noise— call-
ing here, hammering there, servants carrying up
trunks and parcels, and Mrs. Bracy finding
fault with everything, ordering fires and dinner,
and so on, in a sharp, loud voice, which startled
every one.

She was in too great a bustle to bestow much
greeting on Grace. She wondered they had not
been ready, and expected them any day; she
said that Mr. Bracy was ill, and wanted to go to
bed ; instead of which, here was the room, un-
carpeted, and all disarranged. Which it was ;
Grace and the maids having settled that they
should have due notice of the day, and so not
hurrying over the regular " cleaning out" which
housemaids love, when occasion offers.

Grace was sorry, and went to find her father.
He had taken refuge in the fruit garden — a
sheltered and private spot he was always fond
of. Here Grace found him.

His reception of Grace was not unkind, but
it was hurried, and as if he was ill at ease. He
looked pale and worn; and altogether Grace
felt a great pity, a great desire, if she could, to
show her dutiful love and wish to please him.

HOME TBIALS. 197

She suggested his resting on the couch till his
own bed was teady.

" No ; I am well here, child ! Quiet, quiet !
Here it is only the chirping birds. Where is
the key of my room ? No one has been there,
I hope, with duster and broom ?"

"O no!" Grace hastened to assure him.
" But it will be too cold there without a fire.
Shall I order one at once — only this first
evening . . . ."

"I shan't go there to-night. It must be
ready to-morrow. I say, Grace, I think you
had better take the little girls again; unless
they go to school, which — which — your — which
Mrs. Bracy seems to think best. But there is
the expense !"

"Please to let me have them," Grace said
very earnestly.

He looked at her for a moment, and said, " I
wish it; but, Grace, you are too mopy, she says.
You must do it in real earnest if at all, and
then it will be but for a time. Umph! You
will not be long here, of course."

What could he mean ! Why did he look so
at her ! Grace thought.

"Here — stop! Where are you going? I
may as well tell you, now I have time and quiet.

82

198 HOME TRIALS.

The fact is, I have had a very flattering, very
handsome offer — quite the prober thing. It
speaks volumes in his favour. But of course
you guess what it is P"

Grace did not. She did not betray any con-
sciousness, as he perceived ; so taking another
turn, he took out a letter, and said, "Young
Harris, the Draper's son at Fordbridge, seems
to have met you there, at your uncle's. He
asks my leave to visit at our house ; and in fact,
to pay his addresses to you."

" To me !"

"Yes! It can't be so very unexpected on
your part, I should think. Surely he has given
some cause for your expecting this ?"

" None." Yet, even as she spoke, Grace re-
called the shy, blushing attention this young
man had tried to pay her. She had pitied
his awkward shyness, in their large family
party, and had tried to make it less formidable.
She remembered, too, hearing Uncle Hugh
speak much in his praise. His father was a
very thriving Linen Draper, and intended taking
this his only son into partnership.

"Well!" said Mr. Bracy, "I see you are
refreshing your memory. And this is an offer
not to be despised. I hardly think — hem ....

HOME TBIALS. 199

perhaps this may not be quite — quite so com-
fortable for you now. It is worth consideration,
I can tell you. I shall tell him he is welcome.
Among the heap of letters/' he presently went
on, " there was one from that scamp John. He
thinks because he has good news to tell, he
may reckon on pardon. He is mistaken. Rich
or poor, I have done with him ! But from what
he says — here, take it and read for yourself —
and he gave her the letter.

" Father," Grace struggled to speak quietly
and clearly, '• Please don't invite Mr. Harris.
I can't ; indeed, I can't."

u Nonsense! Stuff! Eead that first, and wait
a week, and then see. You'll only be too glad."
And Mr. Bracy passed her quickly, going into
the house. Grace remained to ponder over
this sudden news and to read her brother's
letter.

This garden was walled on three sides, and at
the top was a nicely-kept gravel path, a pleasant
and sheltered walk, where one might watch the
first burst of the leaves, and then the shy, soft,
pink buds of peach and nectarine and plum :
where bees came for early flowers, and where
many a rare dish of early strawberries were
gathered. The ground sloped down, the well-

200 HOME TRIALS.

dug beds for fruit, and vegetables; ending
in an orchard, where some choice apple and
pear trees grew, and where grass was allowed to
remain. It ended in a brook, which widened
into a kind of pond. Here a seat had been
erected ; here blue bells, primroses, and daffodils
were found. Birds built their nests, and some
pet muscovy ducks flourished. It was a very
favourite resort for Grace and the little ones.
It was to this seat, in spite of a chill breeze,
that she took her letter.

John's letter contained no great news to
Grace. She had heard most of it that day at
Aunt Betsy's. They were doing very well, hav-
ing made a fortunate purchase of a flock of
sheep. John said that Harry would soon be a
rich man. He was a general favourite. Then he
went on to say, the only thing wanting for their
home comfort was a woman. A lady might be
very comfortable there, and John was anxious
for his partner to bring home a wife. He said
he himself must wait a little for prudence' sake ;
but he knew where to look and thereupon expa-
tiated on the agreeable qualities of a certain
family, of whom it was evident they saw a great
deal. He said that Harry was a fool if he didn't
see the welcome a pretty pair of black eyes al«

HOME TBIALS. 201

ways gave him ; and he shouldn't he surprised
what news his next letter might not convey. He
encouraged the idea of Bohert's coming to them,
and even hinted, that if younger, his father
would do well to do so too.

The tone of the letter surprised Grace. John's
gloomy reserve seemed to have melted. There
was cordial affection in his words. She won-
dered his father was not more pleased. She sat
for some time very still, and then she rose up
and slowly walked hack to the house. A close ob-
server might have seen a more set look about her
mouth, and even more quiet sadness than usual
in her soft hazel eyes. Her voice too, had a
mixture of determination and great gentleness,
and had lost its usual tone of doubt: She was
very quiet in her way of taking her place in the
family party, and tried to give cheerful answers
to Mrs. Bracy's rough jokes. Once or twice
during the meal, she met her father's eyes bent
on herself, with a new expression of interest,
and then a shiver of fear and regret — a dread
of giving pain, arose.

It was not till he had left the room to go to
bed as he said, that Grace followed him and re-
turned the letter. " Thank you ! But — father,
please don't ask Mr. Harris here. It can't be.

202 HOME TBIALS.

I have no wish— ao intention of marrying at all.
Let me have the little girls and stay here."

He was beginning some angry remonstrance,
when Mrs. Bracy opened the door to order him
not to be standing about in passages. On which
he hastened away to his room, and Grace re-
turned to the parlour. She foresaw fresh
trouble — yet she hoped. If she could but suc-
ceed in keeping the little ones happy and in order,
her father might not wish her to go. It was
a relief to her to find that as yet her step-
mother was ignorant of Mr. Harris' offer.

For a few days, Grace's hopes seemed about
to be realized. Mr. Bracy was seriously ill
owing to a neglected cold, and kept his room
and bed, his wife attending to him herself, and
not allowing one of his children to go to him.
Grace took the little girls, and but for an occa-
sional storm in the kitchen, and the very rough
words Mrs. Bracy used at such times, Grace
hoped things might go on as smoothly.

Very few persons called, much to Mrs. Bracy's
indignation. She had set her mind on playing
the great lady, and already planned a party, not
caring to wait for the usual plan, of being her-
self invited first. This caused a great dispute
between Mr. and Mrs. Bracy, as soon as he was

HOME TBIALS. 203

well enough to come down. He would have no
one invited, and at last in the heat of anger,
told her plainly, she need not expect to be
visited, and had better keep quiet.

The only notice taken of Grace's answer
about Mr. Harris, was that the young man was
invited to the house to spend a Sunday, very
much to poor Grace's trouble. He showed but
too plainly what were his wishes, and Grace
found no opportunity to explain her own. Of
course the fact was no longer a secret to Mrs.
Bracy, and she told Grace that it was her posi-
tive duty to get married at once. That her
father had lost some money lately, and she
owed it to him to be independent of him."

Grace kept up a brisk correspondence with
Aunt Cissy and with Cecilia. To both, in dif-
ferent ways, she confided her troubles, and her
great wish, which she found grew stronger and
stronger, namely, to be, if possible, a Sister in
" the Home."

204 HOME TRIALS.

CHAPTER XIV.

It was Christmas Day again — very cold, and
with a biting east wind, which generally does not
come so soon in the season. Grace, with two
of her yonng fasten, was at Church, but no one
else from Cross Farm. Mrs. Bracy had of late
taken a fancy to attend at the Independent
Chapel, when she went any where, and there
had already been one or two noisy arguments,
as to her taking the children there also. It
was another trial which threatened Grace, for
her father had learnt to be even more angry
with this Clergyman than with the Vicar, and
in some vestry meeting, he had been so ex-
tremely violent and angry, as to threaten " to
leave the Church, he and all his family."

Coming out into the churchyard,after the Holy
Communion, Grace found Auut Betsy waiting,
very blue with cold, but bright and kind as ever.
She must wish Grace a " Merry Christmas," she
said. Grace tried to smile, and return the greet*
ing with warmth, but her spirit foiled, and she
broke down, ending her sentence with a little
choking sob, she tried to hide by a cough. '

HOKE TRIALS. 205

" It is too cold to stand ; I will go a little
way with you," Aunt Betsy said. "Ah, my
dear, I have been wishing, to see you. I fear
all the sad tales I hear, are but too true. Poor
girl, you look very ill and worn." Finding that
Grace could not speak just yet, she went on.
"About young Harris, Grace. Your step-
mother has been speaking about it in the
town, I grieve to say. My dear, are you quite
wise to refuse him ? He is a very worthy fel-
low, and could offer you a happy home. I hear
he is truly attached to you, and really cast down
about it. Tou see — I believe " — she hesitated
— " you have heard — Fatty Lee seems to think
it so certain that Harry . . . ."

" I know, I know ! O Aunt Betsy, that isn't
it ! I gave him quite up. He is as free as pos*
sible. I expect to hear of his marriage in the
next letter. But I am not likely to marry. I
don't wish it. If — if — I could do any good to
any one by staying, I had rather be at home.
But if they don't want me, and it seems so,
there is a place I should like to go to; and,
perhaps, it will come to that. Aunt Betsy ! if
father insists on my leaving the Church, it can't
be my duty to obey him. I am nearly twenty-
two now. I should then choose for myself.

T

206 HOME TRIALS.

Only — only — it seems so hard for all his children
to forsake him so."

" Indeed it does. I hope you will not do that
unless really obliged. It can never be right."

" I don't know. I can't 'make up my mind.
Mr. Grant thinks it may be my duty. Aunt
Cissy, too, thinks I have good reasons for leav-
ing home; and Cecilia wonders at my holding
back. It is to do good. It is no idle life of
pleasure. I should be at work there. Here,
what can I doP If you knew — if you could
but guess how it is, how I am thwarted, what
I have to hear and see — why half my time I
am idle, doing nothing. And now the children
are all going to a school, kept by some relation of
hers. I have said all I can, more than I ought
even; but father gives way at last, for peace.
She is sending him to the grave, or worse."

" Very grievous ! very bad !" said Aunt Betsy.
" Have you ever asked your father about your
going to The Home ?"

"Yes. He has forbidden my even writing
to one of the Sisters. He was very angry at my
seeing Mrs. Marks one day, when she was at
a house near us. Of course, he won't hear
of it."

" Then, my dear, don't go. Let me advise —

HOME TBIAL8. 207

persuade you — to take up the task Gob has
set you. Who is to take your place at home ?
If your father is ill, who is there to be with
him?"

" And yet you regret my not marrying and so
of course leaving home," Grace said a little
sharply.

" Because that is generally a woman's natural
vocation and brings its own duties. If your
father liked this, I see no harm in it."

" O, Aunt Betsy, parents must soon learn to
allow their children more liberty— give them
more scope. All can't marry, and look how
numbers of young women waste life!" Grace
said, eagerly.

" True, very true. I believe that it will be so,
and people will learn to allow their children to
work in this way — but I can't see that it applies
to you, my dear. I see, with pain, your troubled
lot ; but, as your friend, I can't see that this
way is open to you yet. I may be wrong, but it
seems like flying from duty, because it is hard.
I think I would rather have you, if it must be
to leave home, without attempting this kind of
work."

" You doubt me, I see ! Yet you don't know
all. However, I have settled to try and go

208 HOME TBIALS.

on at home. I will not be in a hurry. I will
Bee if I can do any good by staying."

"What would our own Vicar say?" Aunt
Betsy observed, as she shook Grace's hand,
turning to go back.

" Ah ! but things are altered. I am older.
Things are altered, Aunt Betsy !"

So they parted ; and Grace returned with a
flushed face, and a good deal of the peace she
hoped to gain in Church clouded over by the
strife in her own mind. She had risen that
morning with a full conviction that her right
path lay in quitting her home and devoting her-
self to a good work.

Mrs. Marks' letters were more and more urgent
and persuasive. She made Grace's wrongs and
trials her own, and while she pitied her, showed
her a way to escape, and said such work and such
a refuge was made for a case like hers. Grace
had worked herself up into a fit of deep reli-
gious enthusiasm, indignant at the evils around
her, at the sins of her stepmother, and now
the violence of her father against the clergy-
man.

Since she had plainly refused Mr. Harris and
made the young man himself aware of her own
feelings, which had been studiously hidden from

HOME TBIAXS. 209

him by others, her stepmother's temper had been
almost unbearable.

Vexed at not being noticed, Mrs. Bracy had
given up her attempts to become respectable.
Openly, she indulged in miserable habits and so
badly ordered the house, that scarcely a proper
servant would remain there. She was extrava-
gant and idle, and Mr. Bracy retired more
and more to his own rooms and looked worn
and old.

Mrs. Bracy's threat was carried into execu-
tion, and three of the children were taken by
her to a school twenty miles away. Lydia
remained, being much out of health. She fell
naturally to Grace's care, and having a duty to
her, it lessened her desire to go to The Home.

It so happened that on the very day after Mrs.
Bracy had gone with the children, Aunt Cissy,
Cecilia, and Mr. Grant and Mrs. Marks, drove
to Cross Farm to see Grace. Mrs. Bracy did not
return till the evening, so Grace had them quietly.
She told her father, who frowned and told her
not to be encouraging visitors, — "it was no house
for strangers.*' He did not come down to lun-
cheon, but he happened to come upon them
afterwards, as Grace showed them round the
place. Mr. Bracy could be very pleasant when

t2

210 HOME TBIALB.

he pleased, and on Mr. Grant's asking about
his new scheme for heating buildings, he threw
off his coldness and even introduced him to his
experiment-room and explained his plan. Mr*
Grant was surprised at his genius and the lan-
guage in which he expressed himself, and with
his usual facility he managed to throw himself
into Mr. Bracy's character and drew out his
confidence. Grace was pleased and proud of
her father ; Aunt Cissy all astonishment, be-
lieving Mr. Grant could do anything with any-
body.

Cecilia was looking particularly pretty in a
violet merino dress, and Mr. Bracy's keen eye
for beauty was evidently struck. He was quite
pleasant and lively with her, even asking her
to come and stay a week with Grace, as soon as
the weather was a little more inviting.

It was one of the very few white days in
Grace's calendar. st A wonderful day" — as she
sighed to herself, when the fly drove away with
the party.

Meanwhile they were saying that Cecilia must
certainly accept the offer.

" Why," said Mrs. Marks, " Grace is made
for a Sister — even to her very voice and her

HOME TBIALS. 211

movements. Poor girl, she is so proved, so
thoroughly tried. She is the very person to
help others. She needs help. She is too yield-
ing — too open to the influence of affection. I
can understand now better where the strong
attraction is, which, in spite of much misery,
draws her to her father. Through het we
shall get at him perhaps. At all events, it
would be cruel to leave her in such an ungenial
place. Yes, Cecilia must go, and use all her
persuasion to bring Grace to us."

"Not against her father's commands — Gob
forbid !" said Mr. Grant.

" Poor Grace ! she doesn't look so very sad
as I expected, after hearing of that Mr. Vane's
probable marriage," sighed out Cecilia.

" Why— hadn't she broken it off before P"
was Aunt Cissy's simple remark.

"O!" observed Mrs. Marks, "she is far too
good for him— or for any one else."

" Indeed, Mrs. Marks, that is going farther
than I can follow," said Aunt Cissy. a Only
after such a disappointment as it was, I don't
expect Grace could ever care to marry."

" She must come to us and be a Sister, that

is certain," repeated Mrs. Marks.

******

212 HOME TKIAL8.

" Why, Grace, you never said what a lovely
girl your cousin was. Bless me, it is quite a
treat to see such a face, so bright and bloom*
ing ! And the old lady is as dry and simple as
ever."

It was well that Grace had this little spot of
brightness to look back on, for from that time
week followed week of great gloom. The wea-
ther was unfavourable, and Cecilia's promised
visit on that account delayed. Though there
were other objections in Grace's mind, and she
hardly liked bringing her cousin into such a
home as it was.

Lydia grew much worse. The medical man
was afraid that disease had begun in one lung.
The sick room was Grace's refuge. She hardly
ever left her sister. She went alone to church,
always dreading that her father might one day
forbid her going. Her stepmother had made
many objections, but Grace quietly put them
aside, thankful that hitherto her father had left
her to do as she liked. Though each day aa it
came was full of trials for Grace, and very little
ever happened to draw away her thoughts from
the wretchedness that surrounded her, one day
was too much like another for any description.
Mrs. Marks did not at all give up her design of

HOME TBIAL9. 213

getting Grace to be a Sister, but even she could
not urge her to leave her sick sister, and while
she continued to keep up her interest in the
work, she ceased to bid her come at once.

CHAPTER XV.

It was now in the middle of summer, Grace
was bending over Lydia's couch to satisfy her-
self whether she was really only asleep, so very
still the thin shadowy figure had been.

The buzz and murmur of insects, the fulness
of life and sunshine, contrasted strangely with
the fading dying look of the young girl. Grace
looked very fagged and weary. Her sleep had
been much disturbed, and her attention very
dose for many weeks. Now she was looking
onwards. A week or so more, and how dull,
how lonely she should be. With Lydia would
perish all her life's interest — all her work !

In the house she was worse than nothing.
She felt herself in the way of her stepmother,
who had grown to show her great dislike in every
look and word.

She had contrived also to prejudice the father

214 HOME TBIALS.

against his daughter, working on the old cause
of estrangement.

He had been peculiarly, strong and violent in
his expressions against the Church of late, and
in this way tried and grieved Grace very often.
Further intercourse with Mr. Grant on the sub-
ject of hot air had shown his strong interest in
Sisterhoods and in " the Home" in particular.

Mr. Bracy forbad the subject, and peremp-
torily put a stop to any correspondence be-
tween Mrs. Marks and his daughter. Fortu-
nately for Grace, Cecilia's beauty seemed to
create a prejudice in her favour, and her letters
were allowed and her company again asked ;
but Grace herself said it was of no use now, she
was so entirely taken up with Lydia. But Ce-
cilia's girlish affectionate letters were her one
pleasure.

She never saw Aunt Betsy, except for a mo-
ment after or before Church. Miss Stafford
had offended Mrs. Bracy and was not received.
Every one shunned the Cross Farm people, and
very often Mr. Bracy threatened that he should
have to give up the place and retire into a smaller
house. His affairs were not prosperous Grace
knew, and she observed an increasing neglect of
the farm. No further letters had come from

HOME TBULLS. 215

Australia. There had been a report that John
Bracy had gone still further into uncivilized
country with some cattle, as Vane's partner ; and
that Robert had been tempted to try the gold
diggings, but this intelligence had only come in
a round-about way.

Mr. Bracy not having answered his son's letter
did not expect another. He had sternly for-
bidden Grace from writing, which she had begun
to do.

Neither of nor from Judith did they hear any-
thing. Much Grace wondered where she might
be, and when feeling more low and nervous than
usual, she used to imagine the possibility of her
return in want and misery. The Vicar too was
still absent, and the accounts were not very pro-
mising of his ever being well enough to return
to his work. This was another heavy loss ; if it
was only the seeing him in his own place in
church and hearing his preaching.

* Grace ! Grace !" Lydia awoke in a fright.
" Don't go— don't let her come in !"

u No one is here by me. I have not left you
once, dear." And Grace raised her and offered
her some water.

In doing so, she saw plainly that a change had
come.

216 HOME TBIALS.

She hardly liked to ring the bell. She dreaded
who might come. Yet to be alone

"is it dark?" Lydia tried to say, gazing
straight at the bright flood of sunbeams which
poured athwart the room. " Hold me, Grace ;
I am ill!"

Grace clasped her hands — cold they were, as
they had never been before.

"Your pain will soon be over, my darling.
You will go to the good God and to mother."

"Shall I?— 0— say a prayer!"

Grace prayed ; but before the end she stopped,
for Lydia was gasping. Then her head fell
heavier on Grace's arm, a quiver over the whole
face, and a shade of grey paleness came.

" I am alone now !" Grace cried out in her
thoughts, " not one left ! O Lydia !"

Very solemn was her prayer over her dead
sister. Death brings facts in startling clearness
to our minds. Grace felt for the first time
clearly, at that moment, that in considering her
future, and her going as a Sister to the Home,
she must remember, that inclination led her
very strongly one way. Though this alone did
not stamp it as wrong, it was a point for con-
sideration — something to be weighed in the
balance.

HOME TBIALS. 217

How thankful she was now that she had not
been persuaded to go long ago; that she had
been at her post, by Lydia ! Life seemed very
dreary, and fervently she wished she might find
a refuge there. It was all she asked for ! But
she prayed now, as she never had before, for a
right judgment and for patience.

Then she left the room, to tell the others.

Mr. Bracy was overcome. He had not ex-
pected it to be so soon. He had never allowed
himself to believe the extent of the danger.
Then, he said, " it was well." There was nothing
in life for regret. Lydia was at rest, at all
events. And he shut himself up again, refusing
admittance to any one.

It was indeed "lonely," when Lydia was
buried, and Grace returned home — to what P —
She looked around for some tie — some duty — in
the shape of work, and saw none. No one
wanted her! Why, then, would they not let
her go ? she thought.

Now, she began to feel all the exertions she
had made. Her sleep would not come back,
and there was a languor and restlessness she
could not shake off. An invitation came from
Fordbridge, but Mr. Bracy decidedly refused his
consent, saying, they were all a set of incipient

218 HOME TBIAXS.

Nans and Priests. One day, however, he was
overtaken in his way home by the doctor, who,
in a blunt, determined manner, told him that
Grace must be attended to, or soon she would
follow her sister.

Mr. Bracy looked surprised, although he said
something " that it was all a trick, a way Grace
always had."

" It is a way which has but one ending, Mr.
Bracy. Miss Grace wants rousing, and a little
cheerful change. She is worn out and unhappy.
Can't you let her have a companion, or a change?"

The consequence of this was, Mr. Bracy's
taking his place in the coach which went three
times a week to Fordbridge, and calling on his
brother-in-law, Mr. Banks, with a request for his
daughter Cecilia to spend a short time with Grace.

Mr. and Mrs. Banks hesitated. They had
heard such doubtful reports of the present home
arrangements, and of Mrs. Bracy, that they
might well doubt as to sending their young
daughter there. They proposed for Grace to
come to them instead. But this Mr. Bracy re-
fused at once ; and then, knowing something of
her loneliness, their kind hearts relented, and
they agreed to trust their child for a time.
Grace was almost too weary and indifferent

HOME TBIA18. 219

to be properly surprised and delighted when,
without previous warning, her blooming, pretty
cousin stood at her door.

Mr. Bracy looked displeased, and murmured
that she was as inanimate as a log — had no
feeling, Ac., while Grace turned cold all over,
and felt too sick and ill to give anything but a
wretched welcome.

When they were alone, she threw herself on
Cecilia's neck and cried. " Only think of your
coming here at last ! It is so good ! But how
could they let you come ? It is no place for
you, Cecilia !"

"It is your turn to be nursed now," Cecilia
said, as she insisted on placing Grace on the
sofa, and fetching her book and her work.

A fortnight had passed, and still there was
no talk of her leaving. Grace had been very ill
with an attack of nervous fever, and now Ce-
cilia declared she could not leave her till she
was well. The two girls were all day long to-
gether, generally undisturbed by any one ; but
a new cause for annoyance existed, which Ce-
cilia dreaded for Grace when she was again
well enough to join the party downstairs. Mrs.
Bracy had brought a niece of her own, not a very
young person, who promised to be anything but

220 HOME TBIALS.

a comfort to any one. She flattered her aunt
in every way and waited on her, and Mrs. Bracy
spoke of trying to get a little " cheerful society
for the sake of the young people/' and much to
Grace's horror, actually not only called on one
or two people in Heathercombe, but managed
to have her visits taken kindly and returned.
She assumed a quieter air, and talked of troubles
and sorrows, and her anxiety to make the home
more cheerful for Grace, and for this niece, who
was an orphan, and wholly dependent on her
for a home ; though, Mrs. Bracy added, she had
a handsome little independence of her own.

There are some people very open to flattery,
and who prize a gossip, an insight into a neigh-
bour's family, and a comfortable cup of tea, so
very highly, that they are willing to sacrifice a
little dignity for these pleasures. So notwith-
standing, if not because of, Mrs. Bracy's reputa-
tion, there were a few who responded to her
advances, and even said that in her fine mourn-
ing, she was a very handsome woman, and
no doubt what she said was true, — Bracy was
very peculiar, — very trying, and not domestic :
and Grace looked her mother's own child, —
quite a " kill joy." It must be trying for a
warm-hearted, sociable woman. She seemed to

HOME TBIJLfcS. 221

be very kind to the step-children, and was agree-
able, and very polite in sending fruit and vege-
tables to people who had no gardens.

Mrs. Bracy succeeded in having her select
set ; and though her husband growled at it, she
even invited them all for the evening, and took
pains to make it a pleasant country party, with
syllabub, and junket, and harvest buns.

Grace and her cousin appeared ; the latter
ready for any fun or enjoyment, only wishing
poor dear Grace had been just a little stronger,
and did not look so very pale and sad.

But it was so strange, so new to Grace ! and
none of her old friends were of the party ; only
some- people she knew by sight, and some Miss
Bnrys, — showy, noisy young women she had
often seen Judith quiz and imitate.

Cecilia wasquite the belle,and made much of by
all. That was the one pleasant part of the eve-
ning, to Grace : the seeing her cousin's pretty
manners and enjoyment. Mr. Bracy did not leave
his room, but he did not check his wife's further
efforts. And this party was by no means the
only one. Besides this, the Cross Farm people
were invited into the town, and to join pic-nics
to the sea-side, or to a distant wood. Grace
liked it while her cousin was there, but when'

u2

222 HOME TBIA1S.

Cecilia left, she found it little to her taste.
The rather noisy jokes and style of conversation,
were distasteful to her. She had not Cecilia's
tact to pass it off or check it. She felt herself
looking cold and grave, — "primmy," as Mrs.
Bracy called it, — or very awkward and foolish.
She thought her step-mother much too free in
manner, and Miss Brown, her niece, very affected.
The only interest Grace could get up, in any of
the set, was for the Burys, who, though so
little to her taste, had known Harry Vane inti-
mately. To hear his name mentioned casually
by one of them, was a new and thrilling plea-
sure, which she could not account for.

As autumn came, and she had quite recovered
her strength, Grace sorely missed some work
to do. She sewed and she read, and she tried
to get up her music ; but there had been no in-
ducement lately. Mr. Bracy ceased to care for it
since Judith left, and Grace had rather shunned
playing before him on that account. But at
the best, it is a very different thing to chalk out
one's day with these forced occupations, however
innocent or even improving they may be, from
the having a certain portion of real work to do.
This idle business, this purposeless existence,
sends many a woman's mind to ruin. The more

HOME TBIALS. 223

amiable and less strongly marked characters rub
on, only perhaps losing freshness and gaining
slightly a little frivolity ; but there are others to
whom it is death. Lack of nourishment acts
like quick poison, and they plunge into habits
of self-indulgence or dissipation. And this takes
place in a country where marriage among the
middle classes is daily becoming more difficult,
and where hundreds of souls are perishing for
lack of care and keep ! When shall we learn
how to use our surplus energy and strength
without the few who are brave enough to at-
tempt it, being stigmatised as weak enthusiasts,
or Papists in disguise P

It is a question which Parents must study
and find an answer for. It was one which
Grace often asked herself, and never failed sug-
gesting over and over again to Aunt Betsy,
whenever a chance meeting gave her opportunity.

"It may be so, my dear," was always this
lady's reply. " I agree with you. I think your
uncle and aunt very right in sparing their child.
But under your circumstances, I do not see how
you can go; at least, don't call it a religious
act. Say you wish it as any other pleasure."

" And so I do. And if they want me at home,
why don't they give me something to do ?"

224 HOME TBIiXS.

At last moved by Grace's increasing look of
care, Aunt Betsy suggested her trying to in-
terest herself in the few cottagers living near
Cross Farm, seeing if she could help the chil-
dren in any way or in sewing for the mothers.
She supposed Mr. Bracy would not like her
taking a class at the Sunday school P A teacher
was much wanted. Grace knew it was vain to
ask this, as it might imperil her attendance at
church. But she tried to follow out Aunt
Betsy's hints, and went to see the cottagers.
She found in one, an old man who would be glad
for her to read to him sometimes. He under-
stood something of politics too, and missed his
reading badly, since he hurt his eye. In an-
other, the poor woman was only too thankful
for Grace to make her small children's garments,
and at last Grace got a nice little maiden as her
pwn scholar. In order to prove that such work
did not upset her as her father always argued it
did, she was doubly careful to be regular and
cheerful in the family circle. For some time all
went on quietly, but by degrees, how Grace
could not for a long time make out, Mr. Bracy
got hold of misrepresented stories.

It was insinuated to him that his daughter
was quite a home missionary, &c., and as his

HOME TBIALS. 225

own unfortunate natural dislike for her had been
for some time freshly stirred up, he showed a
jealous distrust of her. It was again near Christ-
mas, when he called her to his room, in one of
his most violent passions, saying he had long
suspected she was trying to work against him,
and now he had found her out.

" Pray how long had she kept up a secret in-
tercourse with Mrs. Marks ?"

Grace said she had never even seen her, except
once in the street, since her father forbade it.

"Don't add lying to deceit and hypocrisy,
girl. I saw her waiting at Eobert Stokes' cot-
tage. She didn't see me ; but I saw her. What
was she there for, but to meet you P And so
this is your reason for reading to old Eobert.
You'll never do it again, so long as you live
under my roof."

It was in vain for Grace to entirely deny all
knowledge of Mrs. Marks' visit or ever having
seen her there or anywhere else. Mr. Bracy
would not hearken to her. He repeated his
order and his threat, and bade her go.

" Father, you say, so long as I am under your
roof," Grace said, almost beside herself, under
pressure of this unkind and unjust accusation.
"Do you mean by that I may leave it?

226 HOME TBIALB.

May I go P may I go and maintain myself any-
where ?"

"Yes; and take my curse with you, for a
disobedient undutiful child, as all the rest have
been !" And he banged the door on her, having
pushed her fairly out.

There was another severe struggle in Grace's
mind that night. It was too hard! — She had
very nearly decided and resolved to leave home,
offering herself as teacher somewhere ; perhaps
delaying going to " The Home" for quieter and
calmer judgment, but when she came down the
next morning she learnt her father was ill with
a severe attack of rheumatic gout.

Here was work for her : as she well knew, Mrs.
Bracy was no sick nurse, and all the nursing
and watching fell to Grace. It was a long and
painful illness, and tried Grace's strength and
patience to the utmost. But she reaped her
reward in once or twice finding her father look
and express pleasure at her return, when for
needful rest she had been absent from him for a
few hours. She so longed for love that even his
look of pleasure and the simple words, " O, it
is Grace ; all right. I am glad you are come
back !" was food for days.

Why couldn't her father like her as other

HOME TBIALB. 227

fathers liked other daughters P she asked herself.
Was it her own fault P If she could but feel
herself of consequence to him — a source of plea-
sure and useful — it was all she asked. Perhaps
she was not open enough. She had always been
afraid of him as a child, and had grown up under
restraint, and with a sense of her mother's
wrongs as a wife. She tried to throw off this
reserve, and talk to him openly of her feelings.
It was very difficult. He stared at her, and
answered abruptly ; and then, as he grew a little
easier and could sit up, Mrs. Bracy and her
niece were more with him, and their society
seemed ever to put Grace in the shade with
him. She saw that Miss Brown had a way, what-
ever Grace said, quietly to give it a turn, dis-
pleasing to Mr. Bracy. It was done so quietly
that it was long before Grace perceived it.
When she did, she mustered up courage and
did not let it pass; but told Miss Brown she
had misunderstood her.

About this time Miss Brown seemed to take
a great interest in the subject of " The Home."
She took up a book containing a short sketch of
•its institution and rules, when in Grace's room,
and eagerly asked leave to read it; and from
that time she ever seemed to take every oppor-

228 HOME TEIALS.

tunity of talking of it to Grace, and said it was
a thing she should like for herself. Then she
•suddenly asked Grace why she never had thought
of such a thing, — " She seemed so suited to the
life." Grace returned short answers ; fancying
it were mere affectation of ignorance in Miss
Brown, not to know how much Grace had de-
sired it, and how it was stopped.

Joining this with other things, Grace sus-
pected Miss Brown of some underhand motive,
and it was a great trouble to her to be obliged
constantly to be with a person she durst not
trust, and who turned even her most secret and
cherished thoughts against her, while pretending
to be her friend. It made Grace less scrupulous
in following her own inclinations by declining
almost always to join the parties to which her
stepmother and her niece went. Grace disliked
it, and preferred a lonely evening at home. Some-
times it happened that her father came down
for an hour, and she fancied, notwithstanding^
few scolding words at her sulky preference for
her own society, that he was not displeased to
find her there. He was much crippled from his
late attack, and walked about with pain and
difficulty. One evening Grace had been trying
over some sacred music. The pianoforte was

HOME TS1ALS. 229

much out of tune, but the chords soothed her,
besides being dear from old associations. On
hearing her father's step and stick, she rather
hurriedly shut up the book, and was closing the
instrument, when he came into the room.

u Why do you do that P Go on, go on," he
said. And Grace overcame her timidity, and
forced herself to play on as well as she could.

"When was the instrument tuned?" he
asked. And on Grace saying, not for a very
long time, for no one had played on it since —
she stopped, remembering that Judith's going
was the cause ; he interrupted her with saying,
he used to be a tolerable tuner, and he would
see if his ear retained nicety enough to manage
it to-morrow.

He spent some time on it, and then was be-
guiled into a few chords and old chants. From
that time the pianoforte proved a point of unison
between the father and daughter. She bore his
rough criticisms well, and practised diligently
to please him ; and he in return, now and then,
once or twice in a fortnight, perhaps, asked her
for music, when he came down, tired out with his
own work. Nor did he add his word to his
wife's and her niece's, when they upbraided
Grace for deserting their parties. Now and then,

230 HOME TBIAXS.

•

just to please them, she went. But generally
she was left at home, glad to escape from what
gave no pleasure and often caused pain. Yet,
at the best, it was but a dull life ; and Grace
was young and conscious of powers dormant
within her, which now only found a vent in
dreams.

CHAPTER XVI.

Akotheb year has passed; and so mono-
tonously has each day come and gone, and there
is so little to mark the time, that Grace has to
think and reckon up.

" Winter is gone at last, and here I am, come
to have some delicious rambles with you, Grace,"
Cecilia said, as she sprang from the carriage,
delighted at being allowed to spend a week at
Cross "Farm.

" It is indeed good to see you — to see any-
thing so bright and so pretty !" said Grace,
looking wistfully at her.

" O, I have so much to tell you ! The wed-
ding, and their beautiful new house ; and now

HOME TBIAXS. 231

there is LycGa's engagement — two brothers-in-
law, and both such good ones! And then I
have a great deal to tell you about ( the Home/
and all the money some rich good lady has be-
queathed for it! But how are youp — any
changes ?"

"None. There never is any change here,
Cecilia, at least not to me."

" You do look rather dull ; but you keep up
your good looks, too, Grace. A quiet life is
good for beauty, they say."

"If one doesn't grow mouldy, and fall to
pieces," said Grace with a dreamy, half sad smile.
" I shall be a stupid companion, I fear. I feel
growing stupid and dull, and Btill."

" Poor soul ! Surely something will happen !
This can't go on for ever."

" I don't see what is to happen," Grace said ;
" I look for nothing. Only, it is pleasant now
and then to reckon up, and find that, though
they go so slowly, days have come to months, and
a year has passed ; and life is only years — one
year after another — and then — then — " Grace
checked herself: her eyes were bright, and her
cheeks flushed.

" Ah, but you are young yet. I will believe
that joy will come to you here, Grace. You

232 HOME TBIALS.

have had your sorrow early. To others it comes
later: to all some time. I don't know how,
but I am certain you won't always be as you are
now. People will find you out and appreciate
you : something will happen."

"It is my own fault that I don't go into
society/' Grace said; "such as it is, I am
pressed to join in it. My stepmother goes out a
good deal. But I don't like it — I prefer my
own company ; although now and then I force
myself to go, fearing I shall grow dumb, if I
don't."

"And the music? I was so glad of your
playing ; and your father — "

"All that is ended; I don't know how, or
why. It ended as everything I undertake or
try with regard to him always ends. He never
comes near me now of an evening, and is
angry and mistrustful, though what about I
don't know. Mrs. Marks meant kindly, Ce-
cilia; but it was no kindness to me to do as she
did. After my solemnly assuring my father I
had never seen her, I was quite shocked, the
very next time I went to old Stokes', to find
her there. No word of mine, after that, would
be believed. It ended in my giving up visiting
old Stokes, or any of the cottages. I send the

HOME TBIALS. 283

little sewing-work I do for dame Martin by our
cow boy ; but even this does not bring me clear
of suspicion."

" Mrs. Marks is so grieved at it, my dear.
Perhaps she is injudicious. Mr. Grant has
talked to her about it, and said the good work
needed no such partizanship. If it interfered
with the good old reading of the Fifth Com-
mandment, it could not prosper or deserve a
blessing."

" Don't let us talk of that now. I have de-
cided, Cecilia. The matter is at rest in my
mind, until circumstances should entirely change.
The little note — only a few words — which
reached me from my best friend, our Vicar,
written just before he died, they helped me to
judge. I knew what he would say. And dull
and unprofitable, and useless as my life seems
to be, I hope — I hope I am right for the pre-
sent. It is little enough I can do ; but that
little, when it is needed, no one else can do for
my father."

"If he had ever loved or done you justice,"
said Cecilia.

" That doesn't alter my duty. But now you
are come, I shall take holiday. Isn't this wea-
ther delicious after the long, cold season P It

i 2

284 HOME TBIALS.

has been very unhealthy here, — so many old per-
sons ill and dead !"

" I hear the bell tolling now," Cecilia said, as
they strolled up and down the garden walk;
" it sounds sad, and yet so sweet here at this
distance."

The friends continued to walk and talk, and
their ideas took a grave turn, partly, perhaps,
from the unconscious influence of that solemn
bell, and partly from the sudden burst of spring,
after a long, severe winter. It was the end of
April now, and this was the first mild day they
had. After some time, Grace said,

" I suppose we ought to go in. Mrs. Bracy
will have returned from the town. I don't
know why it is I dread going into the house so ;
yet I want to hear tidings of Aunt Betsy, who
has been ill."

Slowly and reluctantly they sauntered in, and
then found a servant on her way to summon them
for tea. News greeted Grace which sent her to
her room instead : that solemn bell had tolled
for Aunt Betsy I The severe attack of influenza
had at last carried her off, taking a very sudden
turn just as they thought her getting better.

Little as had been the intercourse between
Miss Stafford and Grace of late, since her step-

HOME TBIALB. 235

mother had taken offence and quarrelled, Grace
felt that her oldest and heat friend was gone, —
one always ready to greet her with affection,
and give her true and wise advice. For Miss
Stafford herself, no one could mourn. She had
lived for others ; and, as far as her friends could
judge, had long been ready for her summons.
She left no relations, but many friends, and was
long missed in the parish ; but perhaps to none
more than to her early and now lonely friend,
Patty Lee.

Miss Stafford's genial temper melted the frost
work which stiffened Miss Lee; while Miss
Lee's unflinching firmness had often, in former
times, propped up Miss Stafford's too yielding
disposition. They were very old and very
faithful friends, and Miss Patty Lee was visibly
aged through her grief at this loss.

Grace too was so little able to stand a blow,
that she sank beneath this in a way to alarm
Cecilia, and even attract her father's attention.
Finding she did not rally, he at last consented to
her paying another visit among her relations,
under protest, however, of any attempt at in-
ducing her to become a " Sister."

It was to her newly-married cousin, now Mrs.
Cartwright, that Grace went. Cecilia was to be

286 HOME TBIAIiS.

with her, and hoped for a great deal of pleasure
in her sister's new home.

Summer 'weather did all it could for their en-
joyment ; and Captain Cartwright, being at home
for some weeks, devoted himself to their ser-
vice, and was never tired of giving them a row
or a sail on the river. Grace revived under the
cheerfulness and liveliness of the happiness
around her. Only now and then a sigh would
escape her, and a sharp thought of regret ; for
she saw in her cousin's home just such a happy,
loving life, as once she had dreamt of as pos-
sible for her. There was Lydia's courtship, too ;
and Grace would turn to Cecilia, and half hope
her turn would come soon. So pretty and
winning as she was, she only wondered that
it had not come to pass before.

One day the Captain called up stairs where
the young folks were attiring themselves for a
sail. He told his wife they must delay it till
the afternoon, and she must prepare some lun*
cheon, for he had found some old acquaintances
in the town.

" Isn't it provoking !" said Cecilia; " a lot of
men, this lovely hot day : and we were to have
had our lunch in the boat. The room will be
full, and it is so stifling and hot !"

HOME TBIAL8. 237

"Who are they?" said Grace, as she laid
aside her bonnet.

"I don't know. Look! here they come!
One, two, three, four. Well done, Captain
Oartwright ! Poor wife to have to feed such a
lot all of a sudden. He has so many acquaint-
ances always . . . What is the matter ! — I say
— Grace !"

She stopped in sudden fright at the sight of
Grace's face, which was pale all over, even to
her lips. She seized Cecilia's arm, grasping it
hard, and she tried to speak, bat no sound
came.

Meanwhile they both watched Captain Cart-
wright marshal in his guests. He looked at the
window and smiled, and beckoned them down.
He had hold of the arm of one of the gentle-
men, a tall slight figure, quite a stranger to
Cecilia; but he, following the Captain's eye,
looked up, and on him too came a change. A
look of recognition, of surprise and of pain,
flashed up in his eye. He hung behind, too, as
Cecilia saw.

" Some one you know ! who is it, Grace P"
Don't— don't be ill ! What is it, my dear ?"

Grace sank into a chair, and pressed her hand
on her side. " Nothing, only — pain here. No-

288 HOME TBUXB.

thing, really, Cecilia," she added, trying to
smile; "only it is so sudden. — I didn't know
he was here. This is folly!" she said, rising.
" What is he to me P Nothing : nothing ! That
is — is Harry Yane, and you see it startled me,
that's all, dear."

" Harry Yane ! How did he come here P It
can't he, Grace !"

Grace shook her head faintly, and smoothed
her hair.

" Shall you go down ? You don't look fit.
Let me bring your luncheon to you, and lie
down a little. Do, my dear."

" No, it will he making a fuss. I am sure he
saw me. Best face it at once. If he is here, I
shall have to meet him, that is all, of course. I
had rather go and have it over. Only don't be
looking at me, Cecilia, please !"

" You don't look fit to do it," Cecilia ob-
served ; but finding Grace resolved, they went
down together.

The little room seemed full both of talk-
ing and people, when they came in. Cecilia
glanced hastily at Grace, and was relieved to
see the dreadful paleness succeeded by a bright
flush. Captain Cartwright's hearty, "jolly"
manner, went far to setting every one at ease.

t

HOU TBIAXS. 239

Harry was next the window, he only bowed
to both ladies, as Captain Cartwright named
them, then turned and looked out of window
again.

The Captain led out Grace when luncheon was
announced, and she sat by him ; but it so hap*
pened that Harry Vane, who came in 'last, had
to sit on the opposite side, and Cecilia saw that
all the paleness had returned. Indeed, she fully
expected Grace would faint.

There was much talking, much laughing, and
plenty of clatter; but the Captain paused to
pour out a glass of wine, and insist on Grace's
drinking it, attributing her ill looks to the heat,
and regretting for her sake the delay of the sail*
" But," he half turned to Vane as he spoke, "You
see I met these fellows. This one (a fellow*
townsman, by the way, of yours,) and Lee, are
only just arrived from a long voyage. They
came in the steamer. The others are old friends
of mine, just back from America."'

Then he turned to Harry, and questioned
him about Australia and his prospects, to Grace's
relief, whilst she bent earnestly over her chicken,
not daring to look up, only so well understand-
ing each turn of the voice and detecting uneasy
displeasure give way gradually to the interest

240 HOME TBIAL8.

of the subject, till he got warm in describing
bis new life.

He came back on business, he said, to see his
old father. He left his partner in full charge —
and here there was a cold tone imparted to the
voice, and a stiffer enunciation as he added —
" Your brother, Miss Bracy, was quite well, and
very happy. In fact, I dare say he has told
you, he is about to be married to a very nice

girl."

She could not speak, she only bowed ; and he
did not address or look at her again. After a
time Grace was distressed by the Captain's tell-
ing his wife, that though sorry to lose their
company, he advised the ladies to adjourn ; and
he gave her a hint to let Miss Bracy lay up a
little, if she meant to be fit for the sail.

This brought much sympathy and many ques- '
tions from Christian, and they left the room in
a sort of bustle and confusion Grace did not
know how. She was relieved at last, when they
left her alone on the bed.

"Weak, foolish, despicable creature, to ex-
pose myself so to him !" she cried out ; and
then as the excitement subsided into sobs, she
remembered that he was looking well, only a
little browner; but so handsome, only much

HOME TRIALS. 241

graver. And it was all true. — He was both
prosperous and good, or he wouldn't return with
that look. Well, it would be a pleasure to the
poor old father and Miss Lee. So, he wasn't
married. Perhaps he would choose a wife here !
And hugging this idea, and repeating it over and
oyer again to herself, in order to impress it on
her mind, Grace at last got hushed and quiet,
and dropped to sleep. She dreamed that she
was running after Harry through a thick and
dark wood, never coming up to him, never
catching him, though often near. She started
up in dismay as her cousin came in gently on
tiptoe, to see if she was ready for the sail.

" They are all gone, and it is a beautiful even-
ing."

♦ # * # #

Grace was urged to prolong her visit, and got
leave from home to do so. The same note from
her step-mother spoke of the stir in the town
on the return of young Mr. Vane. The bells
had rung a peal, and there was a dinner and a
ball, and every one giving parties and making an
absurd fuss — so Mrs. Bracy thought, as she had
not been invited to any of these parties, and no
communication had taken place between them
and the Vanes. "He had not even had the

242 H0M3S TBIALS.

good manners to call and tell Mr. Bracy of bis
son."

Grace understood it all. The soreness and
resentment only increased by the bad terms
John was on with his father. She was thankful
to be out of it, to avoid the home comments and
the chance of meeting him or even Miss Lee's
look of triumph. She wished she could hide
herself away somewhere ; and yet she could not
but be glad to hear of bonour paid him; to
think that instead of being " that idle young
fellow who would come to no good/' he was
leading a steady life, and bestowing his energy
and powers on rightful things*

So Grace was thankful for the offer of re-
maining longer with her kind Mends. And
they were pleased to see the paleness did not
return, but that she looked stronger and better
every day.

CHAPTER XVn.

" I havb asked young Vane and William Bury
to come over and join our pic-nic on Thursday/'

HOME TBIALS. 243

said the Captain to his wife. *• We have one
spare bed, and they will lend one at home, won't
they ? We want hands for the oars, and they
are pleasant fellows, and will enjoy the fun."

No one made any objection. When Cecilia
reported it to Grace, she answered quietly, " All
right," and let it drop, as if indifferent.

He was only to stay three months in Eng-
land, and part of that time must be in London ;
so an end would come, and she must teach her-
self to endure the pain. But it was harder to
forget than even she had thought, and it was
great pain to feel how sore and angry he was.
If they had parted otherwise — but as it was, he
blamed her much, and never would forgive her.
Perhaps too she had been over hasty and severe.
Perhaps — but she didn't know — if it was to do
again she should act differently. It was one
comfort to find that he had not suffered very
much, only for the first moment.

He was looking well and happy, and every
one spoke of his being so agreeable and thought-
ful. All the Banks party were greatly taken
with him. Though changed in some respects,
she thought it was for the better. She had not
driven him to despair. He had forgotten her,
except the angry feeling revived by seeing her

244 HOME TBIALS.

again. He would many, and perhaps some day
look back on that time as the turning point,
bitter and sharp, yet healing.

So she tried to reason ; but all her quiet sense
and subdued temper would not avail against the
fluttering of the heart and the alternate flush-
ing and paling which came on, the day she waa
again to see him. Very busy she was all the
morning, begging for all the work of packing
and preparation ; and Cecilia understood it, and
allowed her to take it.

Christian said Grace would be knocked up
before starting ; she had not sat down or rested
the whole morning, and now it was just eleven,
and the boats were ready. Where were the Hea-
thercombe guests P

They waited a little, and then it was proposed
for them all to go on but the Captain and his
wife. There were to be two boats, and four
oars in each. It was a merry and expectant
party, that assembled on the quay behind Mr.
Banks' house. The boats were decked out with
gay flags, the sun shone, and the water waa
smooth as satin. There was a moon too, and
the tides served to a minute.

" Grace, you will go in father's boat, won't
you?" said Cecilia.

HOME TBIALS. 245

Grace expressed herself as ready any way ;
but she soon discovered Cecilia's motive, when
she heard the rowers told off.

Mr. Banks, Mr. Grant, (an old Oxford oar,)
William, and Mr. Rede, were for the first boat,
in which Grace found herself seated, beside
Lydia, and her aunt, and some of the little ones.
They put off before the others did, for the
Heathercombe gentlemen were not yet arrived.

" If they don't appear soon, Cartwright will
hire a couple of men,*' Mr. Banks said, but in
ten minutes' time, there was a cry, " there they
are — they will overtake us now !"

Mr. Banks shook his head at any racing.
They were a stronger crew, and a lighter boat,
and if they chose to pass they might. This
they soon did in gallant style. There was
Capt. Cartwright, Harry Vane, William Bury,
and a Mr. Cornish. A passing greeting was
given, and they kept ahead for some time.

Grace was delighted at the scenery, the
widening river, and the small shipping village,
picturesquely standing on a hill, and running out
on a long tongue of land. On they went till
the river became almost sea, past a small bath-
ing place, to a cluster of rocks, with a broad
stretch of firm yellow sand. Here they were to

x2

246 HOME TBIALS.

land, and carrying their dinner a short way up,
they found shade and a small trickling rill of
fresh water. It was a place, as they all said,
made for a pic-nic, and every one was in a
bright and merry mood. So Grace thought,
who feeling just a little tired with her morn-
ing's work, and somewhat sleepy as she said,
from the sea air, sat still and quiet in a shady
corner, where Cecilia placed her, watching the
others, and feeling as if she was only a looker-
on, and was not an actor in the scene.

It was pleasant to see the quiet assured plea-
sure of her uncle and aunt, to watch Capt.
Cartwright's hilarious spirits, but ever constant
and tender care for his little wife. Then Lydia,
usually so high-spirited and full of fun, had be-
come quiet, though she looked very happy with
Mr. Eede near her. There was a young lady,
a distant cousin of the Banks, called' Nora Gay,
too, who took Grace's fancy. She compared
her with Cecilia, and wondered which people
would think the prettier of the two. She
guessed what her Cousin William thought, and
was amused to watch his quiet endeavours to
get a place by Nora, who didn't particularly
encourage him, but rather smiled more on Mr.
Bury.

HOME TBIALS. 247

Cecilia was looking lovely and so surely
Harry Yane thought. He was so much with
her, and so often glanced at her face, as they
were talking very earnestly together. A sud-
den sharp pang seemed to shoot through Grace
then. Many times afterwards she turned to
look that way. He had not once looked even
at her. Only that first general bow of greeting
from the boat.

" You have stuck yourself so far away there !"
said Capt. Cartwright. " There is no getting
at you at all. Won't you have some of this ex-
cellent cold plum pudding ? It is orthodox."

She smiled, and took some, and said she had
a capital place, and was very comfortable and
that her little cousins had been most atten-
tive.

Later some fruit was handed about, Harry
Yane rising to do it. He gave some to every
one.

" You have forgotten Grace," said her uncle.

It was difficult to reach her from where
Harry stood, so Mr. Banks took the basket and
helped her. Then Harry returned to his seat,
which chanced to be with his back to Grace, so
that she could only catch a glimpse of his profile,
as he bent down to his companion. Songs were

248 HOME TRIALS.

asked for. : Mr. Bury sang, and then urged
Vane to do so. He gave an old favourite — one
he used to sing years ago. It was funny, but
his rich voice gave a quaint pathos to the ever-
recurring melody, and the chorus rang with
touching wildness, increased by some of the
others joining in harmony. It suited the scene,
for it spoke of the sea. There was fun for the
merry, and feeling for the more sentimental.
It was much approved, and as he refused to re-
peat it, saying it took out all the spirit, no
more songs were cared for.

Very soon, the younger members were ready
to explore, and search for shells or cockles.
Some said there was a famous cavern, which
must be seen, and one or two preferred remain-
ing quietly in the shade. They paired off
naturally, Grace being left in her corner, and
her aunt and uncle on either side ; Mr. Grant
too, had leant back, and seemed indisposed to
move.

" Grace, won't you go ? You ought to see
the cavern, my dear," presently said her aunt.
" Or are you tired ? Only it is a pity not to
see it. They have forgotten you !"

Grace bent her face for one short minute,
then looked up and answered cheerfully, that

HOME TBIAL8. 249

she was very happy where she was. Bat Mr.
Grant insisted on taking charge of her, and
would take no refusal. At last she yielded, not
without a certain feeling of reluctance, and tak-
ing his offered arm they went the shortest cut
to the cavern, which it seemed the others had
not done, but were, some making a circuit in
one direction, some in another, and one or two
had gone in quite a contrary direction.

He was very agreeable and talked of the
"Home." "Well, Miss Bracy, you are often
asked after by the Sisters. I tell them you
have other work to do, but I hope you have not
dropped ail interest in us, that not once you
have even visited the place ?"

" My father expects me not to go there. In-
deed, Mr. Grant, if my interest is not so much
expressed, or so warm, it is, because I have found
it my duty and necessary to check it. Whether
things may ever change, or I may find myself
free to choose, God knows! I don't know —
can't guess even. Perhaps some time hence,
when I am older, wiser, more proved — I may be
able to offer if they will then accept me. Is it
wrong to look to this ?"

" I should prefer in your case, not to build
on it at all. You know how deeply I have this

250 KOMI TSIAL8.

work at heart, and yet I know that under cer-
tain circumstances there may he a higher path.
Should a time ever come when you are quite
free, this trial will not hare rendered you less
fitted for it."

Grace only sighed. " I can't look forward
to old age. The present is quite as much as
I can bear. Old age ! — Who can desire a long
lifer

" It is not unnatural to do so. But you hare
been weighed down with cares. Are things no
better, Grace P I hoped they might be."

He spoke kindly, and Grace was led to speak
a little of her home and her anxieties.

" Cecilia is my first and chief pleasure. To
her I owe ail my happy moments," she added
eagerly.

"She is a good girl — very." Mr. Grant
pronounced the words slowly — almost reluc-
tantly. " I trust she is not so light — so vola-
tile as sometimes she appears to be. She is
much admired naturally. May it not be a snare
to her I"

Then as silence followed, he asked if Grace
knew anything of young Vane. "Was he a good
character, and so on ? Wondering, she glanced
at his face, as he seemed to study the stones on

HOME TRIALS. 251

which they walked. He was grave, anxious
perhaps, but certainly innocent of all under-
motive. He had not heard of her former con-
nection with Harry, so she took courage and
answered freely,

"I believe he, is good. He always had the
best heart in the world ; but his bringing up
was bad. — Too great strictness and indulgence
mixed. He got into bad society at one time,
and was rather wild. He had some grief and
then went to Australia, and has done well there.
He is now returned, I fully believe, to see his
old father, and make his peace with him. They
parted under a cloud, and that I am sure Harry
could not endure."

" You knew him well then ?"

" O yes. — My brother is now his partner,"
she added.

" He will not return alone I think. Perhaps
he had a double motive in coming home. Did
your cousins know him too ?" asked Mr. Grant.

" No ! this is their first introduction through
Captain Cartwright* who seems to know every
one."

" You see what I mean, I am sure. I saw
your eyes bent that way more than once," he
added*

252 HOMB TRIALS.

" I can't pretend to misunderstand you," she
answered. " I confess the same idea did cross
me. But though very probable — very, very
likely, it is very early for us to be so settling it,
the second time of their meeting !" They both
laughed a little and then turned to another
subject.

Of course they were at the cavern long before
any one else. It was more curious than beauti-
ful, and Grace did not feel tempted to explore
its dark hollow, but preferred looking around at
the wide spread scene, combining country fields,
and hamlets, and here and there a church tower,
with the Bea, and then to the left the river
winding up between the coast lines, and dot-
ted over with boats and larger vessels. The
whole toned down by the lengthening shadows
and the reddening glow of the western sky.
Outside the "bar" a large-sized brig was wait-
ing for the tide to bring her in. Opposite they
were at work unloading a coal sloop, which
rested now on nearly dry land, and showed
a busy, lively scene, in the various carts passing
to and fro, and the many people at work, with
the monotonous song used in heaving up the
heavy coal from the hold.

" Shipping is certainly very picturesque, but I

HOME TBIAL8. 253

shouldn't at all like a long voyage — such as to
Australia for instance/' observed Mr. Grant.

Grace smiled. " I can fancy it very bearable
— and — might it not possibly be one's duty ?"

"Possibly — yes." And Grace thought that
his rather searching eye questioned her face.
But changing into a lighter tone Mr. Grant
went on.

" I knew some friends who sailed just as they
were married. They were both so miserably
ill, that they did not exchange six words for the
first four weeks. Nothing, I think, can make it
very pleasant under such circumstances."

" I dare say it is very dreadful if one is a bad
sailor. But I think I have fancied I should
like to find myself on the real deep ocean.
Only of course, fancying it while snug on terra
firma, is a very different thing from really being
there."

"Here they are at last!" Mr. Grant said.
Harry Vane and Cecilia came up first. She
was delighted to see Grace, having reproached
herself for not bringing her.

" I was more successful, you see, Miss Banks."

Cecilia went up close to Grace, asking if she
had been into the cavern.

" We were talking very busily discussing the

z

254 HOME TBIALS.

pleasures or the miseries of a voyage," said Mr.
Grant.

Harry gave a quick look towards Grace, but
her face was turned away. "Well, do you
wish to try one ?" he said to Mr. Grant.

"I? No thank you! But I fancy Miss
Bracy has some idea on the subject . . . ."

"Shall we explore this dark place now?"
Grace said, speaking hurriedly and with a
flushed face.

Of course Mr. Grant was ready, and offered
to go first and feel the way.

" Ah, it is very awful !" said Cecilia follow-
ing him. "I never would come in before.
Hold by me, Grace dear, it is so rough !"

They crept on till it got very narrow and low.

" Are you inclined to creep ?" called out
Mr. Grant.

" O no ! I can't — I would rather go back !"
said Cecilia.

She turned, or tried to do so, suddenly;
Grace tried to step back out of her way, but
her foot being on a loose stone, it slipped and
she fell, partly against the rough and jagged
side of the cave, and partly against Harry Vane,
who was following at his leisure, and had not
heard Mr. Grant's question.

HOME TBIALS. 255

"Where are you? What is it, Grace?"
said Cecilia.

" Please move on, good people, or my back
will break," said Mr. Grant.

Grace gave a little groan, as she strove to re-
gain her footing, startled and bruised as she
felt.

" Are you hurt ?" said Harry, at the same
time, catching her arm. This saved a second
fall, for her foot gave way and would not sup-
port her.

" It is my ankle, I think," she said faintly.

" Are you hurt, Grace ?" said her cousin.

" Tes, she is hurt," answered Harry ; and he
half lifted, half supported her, till they again
reached the mouth of the cave and saw daylight.

Grace was deadly pale and shivered. Her
arm was bleeding.

"What is it?" exclaimed Mr. Grant coming
up.

"Will you help her, Mr. Grant?" said
Harry, apparently eager to give up his charge.
" Miss Bracy will prefer your arm, I am sure,"
he added. " And I will fetch some water." Off
he was in a moment, and Grace felt " he shud-
dered even at my touch; he can't forgive me
at all !"

256 HOME TRIALS.

Presently the Captain and his wife, the young
ones and Miss Gay, and Mr. Bury came up,
and every one had an exclamation of surprise
and pity, and a suggestion to make. Grace
was faint from the pain. She begged to be laid
down somewhere, and asked Cecilia, in piteous
tones, to beg all to go and amuse themselves.

"Quiet would restore her; only don't let
them all stand and look and talk."

So Cecilia ordered them all off, and the Cap-
tain hastened to the boats to rig out some sort
of litter, seeing very clearly she would not be
able to walk. The others went into the cave,
resolved to penetrate to the real hall, which, it
was said, might be reached with perseverance.
Many an old tale of smugglers was connected
with the spot. Their merry voices died away as
they got further under ground. The two girls
were alone.

" Are you better, Grace?"

"Rather! only my foot! I wonder if it is
out of joint ; it pains much. How I wish I was
at home ! I think I am not meant for pleasure
parties. See what a spoil-sport I am !"

Cecilia sat by her, laughing at and encou-
raging her. " Here he comes ! " she said pre-
sently.

HOME TEIALS. 257

u Who ?" asked Grace, without opening her
eyes.

" Mr. Vane."

" Do you like him, Cecilia ?"

" Like him ? Why do you ask ?"

"I'll tell you by and by — not now — he is
here."

" She is better now ; but the foot is very bad.
She cannot walk back. I wish father was here
to carry her."

Harry handed the water to Cecilia, and she
bathed Grace's brow and hands with it.

" There can be no sort of difficulty about con-
veying Miss Bracy. We can form a sedan, or
— or — any one of us could easily carry her ; but
if you prefer it, I will fetch Mr. Banks. Shall
IP"

" No, I'll try to walk ; with an arm, I may
limp it," she said, making a great effort to rise
up, and feeling so shaken and so sick, she would
have been glad to have been in bed.

" You can't do it, Grace. See, it has made
her faint again! This is the only and the
quickest way. Excuse me." And biting his
lips, he stooped and lifted Grace, her slight
figure seeming a mere nothing in his strong

arms*

z2

258 HOME TBIALS.

She kept her eyes shut. They thought her
still fainting. Cecilia followed, finding it hard
work to keep up with his rapid steps. They
met Captain Cartwright with a litter formed of
shawls strung on the oars.

But Harry did not put her down till the
place in the boat was ready, that " she might
not be moyed more than needful," he said.
Having placed her, he turned quickly away,
leaving Cecilia and her mother to minister to
her comfort and adjust the pillow. He did not
rejoin the others ; but, while waiting for them,
he paced up and down on the sand. Then he
lighted a cigar, and seeing Cecilia step ashore
again and go to the rocks for some wrappers, he
followed her. They two had fetched and dis-
posed of all the traps before the rest returned.
They were wild with joy at their success, and
had found an enchanted hall— just like a fairy
tale, they declared.

Grace was in great pain, and her aunt dipped
some handkerchiefs into water, and kept on the
foot. She hurried the departure by signs. But
no one had seen Lydia and Mr. Bede. Then it
was settled for one boat to go on, the other to
wait.

" Luckily it is the lighter craft of the two,"

HOKB TBIALS. 259

Harry remarked, " and our crew are the best
performers ; bo we had better make way with
all speed. The sooner that,' 9 and he nodded to-
wards poor Grace's foot, "is under medical
treatment, the better."

He stripped off his coat as he spoke, and the
others followed his example. Very soon the
boat was spinning along very fast ; but it was a
sad and quiet home-coming. They did not see
the moon, and there was no song, as had been
promised.

There was great difficulty in taking poor
Grace out, and she was too bad to return to the
Cartwrights', but was placed in bed at her uncle's
house.

The night was spent in pain, accompanied
with fever ; in which she grew a little delirious,
and talked oddly, begging Harry not to leave
her so unkindly. Luckily, none but her aunt
was there to hear ; and Aunt Cissy knew too
much of Grace's troubles to be surprised, or to
take any notice.

She was in bed for some days, tended most
lovingly and kindly by all, chiefly by Aunt Cissy
and Cecilia. They told her that many inquiries
were made daily. Mr. Grant called often, and
Mrs. Marks brought fruit and flowers.

260 HOME TRIALS.

"I thought I heard a merry party, as the
door opened. Who was it, Cecilia P"

" There was John Bede, of course, and Nora
had come in ; and then Mr. Bury and Mr. Vane
walked over to know how you were: so the
room was full."

Aunt Cissy added further information when
she took Cecilia's place.

" There is to be a very large pic-nic party of
Heathercombe people, given principally by Mr.
Vane, and he asks all our party."

" And they will go ?"

" I don't know ; your uncle doubts, as most
of them are strangers. But the young folks are
very eager, and Captain Cartwright takes their
side. I dare say it will be yes. Young Vane
has a winning way with him. My dear, I hope
you will be able to join ; it is a week hence, and
you can go in the carriage."

Grace shook her head : she didn't much wish
it. After ail, it was no use to get a taste for
the sort of thing ; and she was not suited to gay
parties. No one else would have been so awkward
as to spoil all the fun the other day. And
so on.

Aunt Cissy scolded her for being gloomy, and
liked young folks to be cheerful. Time enough

HOME TBIAXS. 261

to be grave and dismal. Grace made no answer ;
but she asked Aunt Cissy to go down for tea.
She liked being alone a little ; and she should
very much like, if no one minded, having both
doors open. It was pleasant to hear the hum
of voices, and there might be some singing.

She lay there with the lovely flowers Mrs.
Marks had brought her from the Home. She
had lent her books, too ; but she did not feel
inclined to read. She better liked to try and
distinguish tones, and to see if she recognised
any one voice.

How merry they were! That was Uncle
Hugh's quiet, rather measured and pompous
speaking. How every one hushed to listen!
That was pleasing respect, such as the young
should pay to their elders.

But whose voice was that, low and clear,
high-pitched, and ending in a laugh. Was it
Cecilia, or Christian ?

Then came one, followed by a chorus ; but
that one she well knew. All through the con-
fusion she could trace it ; now lower and graver,
now higher and more earnest. Whom was he
addressing? whose face was he smiling at?
Then came a pause, a little stir, and the sound
of a springing light step.

262 HOME TBIALS.

" "Will it disturb you, Grace, if we play and
sing P Tell the truth," said Cecilia.

" The very thing I was wishing for ! And
Cecilia, do, if you can, will you f only don't say
I wished it, please, sing the glee, * When shall
we three meet again V and the ' Land of the
Leal.' "

" Oh, you fix on such very dismal ones ! But
I'll try what can be done." And down she
went again.

There were one or two airs and marches
played first by Lydia and Christian. Then a
simple little song by Nora Gay. That was fol-
lowed by a loud, ambitious performance in some
man's voice. Grace could not make out who.
Then a pause, a murmur as of doubts and per-
suasion, and then came her favourite " When
shall we three meet again ?"

Mr. Grant, Cecilia, and Harry Vane: she
knew beforehand who was likely to undertake it.
He had not lost his singing. If anything his
voice had gained in sweetness and power. She
was sorry when it was over. She dreaded hear-
ing anything else ; but at last, after some doubt-
ful random chords, Cecilia began " The Land
of the Leal," and then broke down. She was
supported by another. Again his rich tenor

HOME TEIALS. 263

blended with her sweet but rather thin treble,
and tears blinded Grace before the last notes
had died away. Thoughts which could find no
words, half wishes which dared not find expres-
sion, came to her then.

" That land would be reached at last — at last.
Long and rough was the way ; but one day it
would seem as a tale that is told. Courage !
hold still in the Lord. Commit thy way unto
Him and He shall bring it to pass !"

These words of comfort stole over her, and
before Aunt Cissy came to say good-night, and
see she had all her comforts at hand, Grace's
voice was quiet and calm. She could smile
happily, and say the music had done her good,
and she had quite enjoyed the treat. It suited
her better than being one of the party. They
need not pity her. Aunt Cissy blessed her,
and wished her good-night, hoping the young
ones would not keep her awake, but they
seemed no ways inclined to part. She observed
to her brother and his wife, when she went
down, that she had found Grace looking more
like an angel than anything else, quite wrapt
up and delighted at the music. But she did
not like that look — that patient sweet smile.
It was not earthly enough. She would sooner

264 HOME TBIJlLS.

see her fretful or hasty, and aunt cautioned them
not to keep her awake, and went her way home.

Cecilia just peeped softly in later, and finding
her cousin awake, could not help coming close
to say good-night. Such a pleasant evening.
Those two walked back now. Lovely moon-
light and she envied them. Yes, it was settled,
they were to go to the pic-nic, and Grace must
get well. Mr. Vane was quite excited about
the party, and had told her in secret, that he
should get a band. So you must come, you
see, Grace. You were wishing for a band the
other day."

"lam better here. No one will miss me,"
Grace half-whispered. At which Cecilia pinched
her finger, and said she was very unkind to say
so, when every one wanted her, and there was
every one calling to know how she was and
making such a fuss !

" A convenient excuse, isn't it, Cecilia ?" said
Grace laughing. " But," she added, " I shall
be glad to go if able, were it only to see you
once more. You see my time is quite up, and
I must go home as soon as possible now."

HOMB TBIALS. 265

CHAPTEE XVIII.

Grace did not go to the pic-nic. Her father
had another rheumatic attack, and she travelled
home that very day, taking a seat in one of the
carriages, which went a little out of the way to
put her down at her own door. It was a dis-
appointment. She did not pretend to hide it.
But the summons was from her father. Nothing
but sheer inability would induce her to neglect
instant compliance. Whether Mr. Bracy knew
what his daughter gave up, she did not know.
He made no remark and asked no question, not
even though he must have observed her lame-
ness. Miss Brown had contrived to get an in-
vitation, and went with the Burys. Mrs. Bracy
was out of humour at not being of the party,
but did not quite like to leave her husband
entirely to Grace, of whom she had lately taken
it into her head to be jealous. *

She contrived to spoil any possible comfort
or satisfaction which Grace might have had with
her father, and worried him by complaints of
the servants. She made some sharp and sting-
ing observations about Grace's visit, her gaiety,
and Harry Vane's attentions to one of the ladies.

266 HOME TBZALS.

which she said had been talked of all over Hea-
thercombe. The Buys had asked her if there
was any engagement — their brother thought it
could be no less.

Grace answered all this with as much dignity
and indifference as she could show. She feared
its effect on her father, in whose presence these
rumours were repeated. When his wife left
the room, he startled Grace by saying, "So
young Yane is come back, boasting of his wealth
and fine prospects it seems. Old Vane's head
is turned, poor old fellow. The rich son is a
paragon. Well, and do you mean to take the
voyage? How do you relish five months on
board ship ?"

Grace opened her eyes wide, then blushed
painfully. At last she said in a very low, hurt
voice,

" You shouldn't say that, father. You know
I broke it all off. We have scarcely exchanged
a word or a look."

" Indeed ! ay, ay ! he is sore. 'Tis his turn
to take the upper hand now. Well, well, it
is natural. But if he is inclined to come round,
it is for your interest to meet him half way. I
give you a hint because you are very likely at
my death to find yourself a beggar. Keep

HOME TBIALS, 267

this news to yourself, but act accordingly. If
you have a chance of providing yourself a home,
don't neglect it. You understand ?"

« Yes."

Then she tried to amuse her father by de-
scribing what she had seen, and spoke of the
prosperity and happiness of the Banks family.

"Yes, he was always a prudent, far-seeing
man, matter-of-fact and dull, and a creeping crea-
ture, who knew how to make a good nest."

Mr. Bracy was in one of his bitter and sar-
castic moods, and everything Grace mentioned
was sneered at in the same way, till her heart
failed, and the old depressed cheerless feeling
crept over her. Then she strove to rally herself.
" If my own mind was worth anything, it would
be sufficient in itself to feed itself. But here I
am, just as dependent on others' light as ever.
If they are dark, so am I, and I only seem
lighted up and bright by others' light."

Miss Brown gave a wonderful account the
next morning of the grand party. The excel-
lent arrangements, the beauty of the view, and
the pleasant rambling walks, and best of all, the
excellent band, the dancing, the singing, and
the return by moonlight. Never was such a
party. She spoke of the Banks, who mustered

268 HOME TBIALS.

very strong. Miss Cecilia was thought very
pretty, but she was a sad little flirt, and made
herself very conspicuous with the gentlemen.

" With any one in particular ?" Grace asked.

" O yes, with Mr. Vane the younger. Every
one talked of it ; though it is true he was very
agreeable and attentive to every one."

Mrs. Bracy carried this news to her husband,
and he was very crusty with Grace all day, and
threw out many hints at her bad management,
and that she would have to work for herself.
Her foot was too bad yet to allow of her walk-
ing ; but she got out as far as the orchard to sit
for half an hour. Her late visit then seemed
like one of the past dreams of her life. It was
difficult to believe that Harry Yane was actually
at Heathercombe. Perhaps had she been about
as usual, she might have chanced to meet him
some day in the Green Lane, which she so often
passed. She was almost thankful for her sprain,
which put that out of the question. What
would such a meeting bring, but pain and awk-
wardness to either of them ? As it was, she did
not go beyond the garden, and as he did not
come there, they had little or no chance of even
meeting again. She thought she should like to
have seen him once more — knowing it to be the

HOME TBIALS. 269

last time — and to have heard him sing once
again ! Would it be, that Cecilia married him !
If so— and it looked likely and probable — she
might, perhaps, even for Cecilia's sake, see him
once, to wish them happiness, and say farewell.
Tears surprised her, as she went on thinking.
She did not know she had shed them, till she
felt her hand wet.

It would not do for her to be loitering away
in this manner, thinking idle thoughts, exhaust-
ing her strength. She must be up and at work.
No matter what! Then it came across her —
Aunt Betsy is gone. How many must miss her.
If she could but take her place to some few.
Her father must begin to trust her — to give her
more liberty. She had been weak in yielding so
very much. Poor Miss Lee ! People said she had
much aged and failed of late. Only she had re-
vived at her darling's return. Grace would like
to go and sit with her. She should not mind her
little sharp speeches now. She could bear all her
triumph, and love her the better for it. But
she could not go there unasked just now. She
must wait till he was gone.

Then she resolved to try and make friends
with Miss Lee, and perhaps make some of her
time a little less lonely for her. That was

a a 2

270 HOME TRIALS.

a pleasant thought to encourage. It did Grace
good. She was like some frail climbing plant,
throwing out tendrils, and gladly catching at any
support clinging round it; there was strength
to bring out leaf and bud — without it there was
nothing but to trail on the ground, at the risk
of being crushed and destroyed.

Mr. Bracy got oyer this attack very soon,
and before Grace could dispense with a stick,
he was also limping with the help of one, by her
side, in the favourite garden walk. He inquired
if she had heard from her cousins. She was
surprised at the question, and said no. Every
day she had looked for a note.

" Too gay, I suppose. Out of sight out of
mind."

Grace tried to contradict this, but as the
days came and went, and no letter or message
came, she did not like the look in her father's
face.

It was strange his taking any interest in it.
Altogether she felt a change in his manner
towards her. He was crusty and ungracious —
sarcastic too ; but he talked more, asked more
questions, and seemed to wish to understand
her mind. One day he said, " Are you fond of
your brothers ?"

HOME TBIALS. 271

"Yes," she said. "But she did not think
they were of her. Bobert she knew best."

" They would like you if they were wise. I
shouldn't wonder if you had a home with one
of them."

Again he said : " Did you meet young Harris
when you were at Fordbridge. Oh ! I thought
you might ; and sometimes second thoughts are
best. You were not wise there, Grace. Women
are absurdly romantic, and cherish ghosts of a
feeling for a real live thing, letting the real
thing escape them. Not that I think matri-
mony indispensable. By no means. Had I to
begin life again, *I should be inclined to eschew
it. Women are fools to marry ; but they will
be fools to the end of the world — what of it ?"

"Are you cold, father?" Grace asked pre-
sently, seeing him grow pale and shiver.

" Yes, I am not well. A strange sensation in
my left side. Perhaps I am cold ; I will move
on."

He rose and took a few steps and then stopped,
drawn together by a sudden spasm of pain. Grace
was alarmed ! his countenance looked so strange.
She beckoned to a man working within sight,
and together they got him home. He was put
into bed, and the doctor summoned. Consider-

272 HOME TBIALS.

able agony came on — a time of miserable suffer-
ing — in which no help could be given. It was
a dreadful night! Towards morning he fell
asleep. He awoke to look round wildly, and
asked for Grace. She was there.

" Tell John I wish him well, and beg him to
take care of you — Eobert — Judith — the little
ones."

His wife here came in, and seeing his altered
face burst into strong hysterical crying. He
signed for her to go. The doctor himself re-
moved her.

" Grace," he said — " Grace 1 I have been
hard to you ; pray now for me, I can hear you."

Grace bent her head and prayed. She asked
for God's mercy and help, and pleaded the
Love and Passion of the Eedeemer. Words
came with no effort. Thanks to old church ha-
bits and accustomed words, familiar from child-
hood. When " Amen" had been said she looked
up, and saw that all was over.

They led her away.

The doctor said the heart had been some time
affected. Mr. Bracy's constitution had been long
injured. It seemed very sudden : but awful as
it was, Grace had no leisure for her own thoughts.
On her devolved all the work. She had to order

HOME TBIALS. 273

and arrange, to overlook accounts, and provide
for all. The little children were brought back,
— so altered, so changed, and so shy, that it was
wretched work to see them. Mrs. Bracy locked
herself up, and gave way alternately to violent
bursts of grief, and then to long intervals of
sleeping. Grace with the two elder children
followed their father to his grave. She was
thankful to see Uncle Hugh and Aunt Cissy
there. Their very presence was a support.
There appeared to be a great many followers,
but Grace did not clearly know about it, or see
anything but the black pall, which swung in the
breeze; and every toll of that bell seemed to
tell its own tale. Her eyes were dry. She had
not shed a tear. Hers was not the common
grief of a mourning child. She was full of
thoughts, quiet and still with awe, yet feeling
immensely thankful at heart, — so glad she had
never left or disobeyed him. She was with him
in his hour of need. God had heard and
granted her prayer! It seemed to give her
new life — new strength to meet whatever should
come.

" It was gratifying to see so many townspeople
there," Aunt Cissy observed to Grace afterwards

274 HOME TBIAL8.

—for she and her brother agreed to spend
as long a day as they could. " I noticed several.
Mr. Vane and his son were close behind your
uncle and me, and Miss Lee too ; she joined us
at church. She is looking very sadly and much
altered, poor Miss Lee !"

The lawyer said that Mr. Banks was left
executor, and an early day was appointed for
reading the will and looking into the affairs.
Grace expressed her conviction that things were
much involved, and repeated some of the hints
her father had dropped. Mr. Banks did not
seem surprised. People had known of heavy
losses and failures in some speculations, and
were even wondering how Mr. Bracy managed
to keep things going as he did. Aunt Cissy's
farewell was even more tender than usual. She
said whatever happened Grace had a home
ready with her, and prophesied that things
would turn out better than was expected.

CHAPTEB XIX.

A gbeat stillness brooded over the place.
Men had left work ; the breeze had died away,

HOME TRIALS. 275

and scarcely a Bound could be beard. In the
house every voice bad been hushed and foot-
fall softened, because Mrs. Bracy had a very
severe headache, and wanted quiet and sleep.
The children were in bed, tired out by being all
day in the sun. Grace sat on a garden bench
in the front grass plat. An old grey cat, some-
what of a favourite of her father's, glided in its
noiseless way by her, and then on to the orchard
to seek for game. A heavy beetle whizzed close
to her face, and a large moth settled on a ver-
bena near.

Grace was wrapt in the quiet, rural beauty of
the scene. It was a pretty place. She was
thinking of the time they first came here.
There was not much of pleasure to find in the
retrospect. Grace felt that altogether she was
happier now, in spite of losses. She was
stronger, more hopeful. She knew that her
fears were true. Her uncle had seen enough of
Mr. Bracy's affairs to find, that when all bills
were paid, little or nothing would remain. This
place must be let or sold. This was the last
summer she should sit there, or wander in the
pleasant orchard.

She turned and looked at the house. It was
unpretending but pretty, with its irregular roof

276 HOME TBIALS.

and added wings; giving many corners and a
depth of shadow, which showed well on such a
clear, soft evening. The front was half-covered
by creeping roses and clematis. There was rich
abundance of flowers everywhere. It looked
like a home.

Who would next live there? What man-
ner of people would sit where she was P and so
on. Dreamy speculations, half-shapen plans,
blended with old regrets and memories. She
was startled very much by hearing a footstep.
It paused — then sounded again. She felt it
draw nearer and nearer. Grace was nervous,
and a sudden fit of foolish fear seized her.

It might be a beggar. They often found
their way in.

There was no fear; yet she trembled, and
dared not stir for some moments.

" Good evening," at last said a voice, which
caused Grace to turn suddenly, though she re-
cognized not the person who stood there, half
in the deep shade, and veiled and shawled.

" Do you want any one P" Grace said.

"I want you — you, Grace Bracy. Do yon
mean to say you don't know me P" and a hollow,
mocking laugh sounded.

" Is it possible ! O, Judith! are you come at

HOME TBIALS. ' 277

last ?" And Grace held out her hands and ad-
vanced.

" "Why — did you expect me ? "Why do you
say at last P Who ever wished for me — or cared
to see me ?"

" We did— I did— father did ! But O, Ju-
dith!

" I am too late ! you would say. I know it.
I saw his coffin pass. I have stood by the
grave. I don't owe him anything, for his tem-
per drove me to my fate. We had a bad bring-
ing up. I don't know why I came now : some-
thing brought me to the place. I hear you are
all beggars. Poor Grace, you have done badly :
still unmarried ; still a drudge and slave ! Well,
when I am inclined to fret and be discontented,
I must think of you. My lot is not over bright,
either."

" Where do you live ? Judith ! if you did
but know the fears I have had — the horrors !
Tell me, are you happy: — settled — married — ?"

" Don't ask such a string of questions, I am
not come to gossip. Suffice it to say, I am pro-
vided for, and alive. Perhaps by daylight you
might find me altered : but see, look here, by
this light I am to be recognized !" and drawing
back her thick veil she looked Grace in the face.

B B

278 .HOME TBIALS.

It was the same regular, handsome face, bat
with a half wistful, half mocking look in the eyes.
She coldly resisted all Grace's attempts to touch
her or to come in. She had wished very strongly
to look at the place again ; and stealing in she
had seen Grace, and so could not resist speaking.
She could not stay : she was about to leave Eng-
land at once.

No, she wouldn't give any addrees. It would
be no pleasure or advantage to Grace to know
about her.

Grace asked if she was content and happy ?
— was she alone? — couldn't she stay a little
while?

Judith said she was happy enough, — as much
so as others were, take it all together. She was
not alone ; she had friends even in the lane ; she
must not wait.

As Grace forced a kiss on her, and pressed
her in trembling excitement, Judith whispered,
" I wish I had seen him ! If he had only wished
for me, asked for me — but — "

"He did! he did! The last words almost
were — Judith — John — Robert! He remem-
bered ail — ail. He was sorry ; he grieved ! You
were always his favourite. O, Judith !"

But even as Grace wept and uttered these

HOME TBIALS. 279

words from her heart, Judith disengaged herself
and was gone. Grace thought she heard the
sound of wheels and a horse's steps. That was
the last she ever saw of her sister. Years after she
heard of her, sad, painful words, that brought
sorrow and grief into a happy spot.

Surely, Grace thought, as she went to bed,
there are not many such families as ours has
been. What was it P What was the cause of
all the misery ? Was it because God was not
first ? And trying to ascertain where the mis-
chief was, Grace lost herself in sleep.

There came a letter from Cecilia full of kind-
ness, wanting her to come to them as soon as
possible; then, anticipating objections on her
part, Cecilia went on to propose that she should
accompany her father the next time he went to
Cross Farm on business, and leave Cecilia there
for a few days. She should like to see the place
again ; and she was strong and active, and might
help Grace.

She went on to say, that of course all their
little spirit of gaiety had subsided. They were
very quiet now, and Lydia looking melancholy
at the prospect of losing Mr. Bede for a time.
There was also an ominous sound of an ap-
proaching voyage. What would become of them

280 HOME TRIALS.

all when Cartwright left ? The two Heather-
combe gentlemen were very constant in their
visits, and really they both gained an acquaint-
ance. Cecilia said they all liked Mr. Vane, and
and they were whispering many remarks about
Mr. Bury and a certain Nora Gay.

This letter cheered Grace from its tender,
unobtrusive kindness. But it only served to
confirm her own ideas and others' rumours. That
Cecilia would go out as Harry Vane's wife,
Grace had no doubt. It was hard to lose her,
her best, her only friend ; yet she dared not
object or repine. She ought to be unselfish and
rejoice for both. Poor Grace ! She tried hard
to do so ; and much to her credit was it, that
not once, by word written, spoken, or implied
by look, did she ever insinuate her own sus-
picions, so as to make it disagreeable to her
friend, or with the chance of utterly breaking
down the whole affair, which nineteen times out
of twenty such words do, and perhaps are
often purposely intended to do, by our so-called
" friends." After all, there are but few really
noble and generous hearts in the world. They
are very generous and kind about many 'things ;
but wait a little, and when the proof comes —
the point on which their tender part is even

HOME TBIALS. 281

touched, and see how they turn under profess-
ing friendship and frankness and say stinging,
wounding, shaming words !

Ghrace loved Cecilia well ; admired and loved
her, and was grateful to her. Even on this one,
sore, tender subject, she spared her friend. She
saw, suspected, felt, but kept silence.

At this time Grace received another letter.
It also gave her pleasure. It was from Mrs.
Marks, apologising for what she had found to
he unseemly haste on her part. Glad she was,
that she had been better advised. She confessed
her brother had been the best judge.

Still circumstances were changed ; and while
she fully acknowledged that Grace had been
wiser than herself, she would not for any false
shame withhold the offer of a safe and happy
home for her, in case she should now or hereafter
think herself free to accept it. In the name of
the institution and its members she begged to
say, she would be gladly welcomed there on any
terms.

Grace was thankful for this. It helped her
on. Perhaps after all there she should be. She
thanked her, but craved further patience and
time.

b b 2

282 HOME TBIAL8.

CHAPTEE XX.

Cecilia's promised visit was paid. She was
there at the first turning out some of the rooms
and packing up of furniture. Her gladsome
ways turned the toil into a work of pleasure.
Her bright spirit was shed on all, and gave it
a light not its own. It uplifted Grace, and
seemed to realise some old fancies of her own,
only Cecilia turned common trifles of daily life
by some magic of her own, instead of waiting
for an imaginary set of circumstances.

It was found that after all debts were cleared,
there remained £2000 settled on the children ;
it evidently meant the four younger, though it
was not clearly expressed whether or no it in-
cluded Grace : and the estate and house of Gross
Farm, the furniture and plate, and his scien-
tific inventions, some of them still unfinished,
might prove worth something ; and one had a
patent not yet expired. This residue of his
property was for his wife. Some gifts of re-
membrance, such as his watch, desk, and some
books were left to each child by name.

Mrs. Bracy deplored and grumbled, saying at
least she expected to live on at Cross Farm ;

k

HOME TBIALS. 283

but Mr. Banks pointed out to her that the sum
for which it would let would be her principal
means of support. So there was nothing to be
done but to try and clear out everything as soon
as possible, and to advertise the place without
delay.

Mrs. Bracy took a small house in Heather-
combe, — the very one that Miss Stafford lived
and died in ; and thither the greater part of the
furniture was removed. The rest was to be
sold.

Mr. Banks, as executor, resolved to place the
children under the care of a respectable woman
at Fordbridge, hoping to be able to bring them
each up in time to some respectable occupation.
They had fallen into just hands, and Grace's
mind was greatly relieved at the notion of her
uncle having to settle for them.

While Cecilia was at Cross Farm, she liked
taking walks in the neighbourhood with one or
more of the children, as companion and pro-
tector. Grace's foot was not yet equal to a
walk beyond the orchard. Sometimes Cecilia
did not return as she went out ; she brought a
companion, and he would apologise for coming
in to rest, or to have some tea. It was Harry
Vane who so often happened to meet her in her

284 HOME TRIALS.

various walks, and he made himself too agree-
able for Mrs. Bracy to be anything but very
gracious.

Often he lingered on quite late, walking about
the garden, listening to Mrs. Bracy's regrets
and sorrows, or talking to Cecilia, till, all the
day's work fairly done, Grace, tired out, would
join them for a quiet stroll, leaning on Cecilia's
arm; or sometimes, having already stood too
much, she could only sit on a bench, and then
insisted on their not heeding her. She could
watch them, and was too stupid to talk.

She learnt to look on now, without even an
additional heart-throb, or any sudden rise and
fall in her colour, when Harry walked by Ce-
cilia's side ; how he gathered flowers either for
her, or at her bidding, for her to bind up and
arrange for Grace. These flowers were con-
scientiously placed in water, and served pre-
cisely as all other flowers, neither petted over
much, nor neglected.

Sometimes, only seldom, though, they had a
little singing. The pianoforte was to be sold ;
it was still a good one. Grace regretted it as
an old friend ; but she wasted no words on it,
and only once said anything at all, when urging
it as a reason for Cecilia to play and sing.

HOME TBIALS. 285

She never directly asked Harry to sing ; she
could not. Yet she took herself to task for the
cowardice, and hoped to accomplish it yet. But
as Cecilia's taste was like Grace's, her old fa-
vourites were not forgotten.

Too much of this Grace felt she could not
bear ; it upset that calm state she strove so hard
to maintain. One evening, when he had been
led on, first by Mrs. Bracy and then by Cecilia,
to sing one after another, ending in a simple
but exquisitely touching little "addio," Grace
slipped out at the window, and was found miss-
ing when the sapper was announced nearly an
hour after.

She had gone to the orchard. Overcome be-
yond her power of restraint, fagged by a hard
day's work at packing and turning out some old
stores of her mother's, she had been glad of the
seclusion, of the pre-occupation which made her
not missed. They thought her still in the win-
dow, or perhaps they thought not at all about
it. So she deemed, and for once rejoiced.

She cried as she liked, and for once used no
self-restraint.

" I shall be the better for it afterwards," she
said. " I am foolish and weak ; I can't bear so
much or so well as others. But God does not

286 HOME TBLA.LS.

forbid tears — nature's relief — sometimes so great
a solace. God sees me ; He reads my heart ;
He knows that these tears are not sullen, or
angry or even regretting that which is past —
that which I gave up to please Him. He sees
it is only my infirmity, — a last tribute to old
times."

So she arose, relieved and lightened; and
though she knew her eyes were red, and would
be observed, she came back quietly, and took
her place at table, just as they were all sur-
prised at not finding her, and proposing a search
in the garden.

"How long have you been there, Grace?"
asked Cecilia, with a little reproach in her voice
and look. " You are cold and chilled. When
did you go ?"

" Just after the ' addio,' " Grace said, meekly,
and casting a deprecating glance at Cecilia.
" I felt a wish to go to my old haunt, — a want
to think over old times. It is the last. I shall
not do so again. And don't look so at me,"
she whispered ; and she was unusually cheerful
for the rest of the evening.

Harry had learnt to shake hands with Grace
now, since her father's death, and since he had
visited at the house. To-night she fancied it

HOME TRIALS. 287

was a more hearty and friendly touch than
usual, and she was glad.

" I should like to hear him say he had for-
given me. Perhaps my going away afforded
them the opportunity they wished for ; and they
understand each other, and that caused his
friendly pressure. 1 '

But there was nothing particular in Cecilia
to justify this conclusion, and Grace had still to
wait. She sometimes felt impatient, wishing to
have it decided, and wondered why they de-
layed. Yet they had abundant opportunity.
This visit of Cecilia's had been a gain to Harry,
and over this Grace rejoiced.

But time sped on. Harry's allotted three
months was nearly over; and he spoke of his
business in town, and looked anxious. Then
Cecilia left ; and again Grace was alone in the
dismantled house. They saw no more of Harry
Vane, at which her stepmother looked offended ;
but Grace smiled, guessing where he was.

The last day came. Mrs. Bracy was already
gone to her new home ; cart-loads of furniture
were being packed and sent off to her. Grace
preferred remaining to the very last, till the
sale was to begin. She had begged to have this
her own way. The little girls had gone to their

288 HOME TRIALS.

uncle : all were gone save one maid-servant, the
gardener, and Grace.

She wrote letters to each brother from the old
home, telling and explaining everything, and beg-
ging for a corner in their hearts. This done, she
sauntered about the place, visiting each spot,
each seat, and saying good-bye to all. Soon she
might be an inmate of the Home. She had re-
solved to accept the kind invitation, and go
there as a visitor. It might end — and most
probably would do so — in her remaining there
entirely. She was free at last. She smiled
rather sadly to remember how ardently she had
desired this, and what arguments she had used
to prove her desire right. A little tired, she sat
on the garden bench, the same on which she had
heard the approach of Judith. And hardly was
she seated, before she heard another step. This
time, hurried and loud, craunching the gravel
and whisking it with a cane. A muttered ex-
clamation — a stop — and then the steps came
quickly to where she was.

"They said — I heard — I should find you
here/' Harry Vane said.

He spoke loud and, as it seemed to her, ill at
ease. She tried to make it easy by answering
readily.

HOME TB1AX8. 289

" Yes, here I am, holding on to the last. But
I didn't know .... I fancied you were gone to
London."

" I ought to be. I go there to-morrow. My
time is all but gone." And he came to a dead
stop, and looked quite perplexed and restless. He
stood first on one leg, then on the other ; shuffled
his hat, and unrolled and rolled up his gloves.

" Will you sit here, or shall we go in P There
is only an empty room, and this is the best spot
I think. Have you seen— have you been to the
Banks lately J"

"This morning. I slept there last sight.
¥hey are very hospitable," he laughed a little.

" She is a lovely, sweet girl," Grace said, half
absently, and yet partly with a wish to break
the ice for him $ for that he came to tell her of
his engagement she had no doubts.

" "Who, Miss Cecilia P Yes, she is a very in-*
teresting person. It is quite a treat to see such.
She is a great friend of your's, she tells me. It
is new to me, you know ; for before I left, you
hardly knew there was such a family."

" Yes, one of the blessings of late years. A
great comfort to me. She must be happy, she
is so good. She will make every one happy she
is with."

oo

290 HOME TBIALS.

" Indeed I think so. I hope so — and — and- 5 -' '
he hesitated — then went on abruptly — " I dare*
say she will soon have the opportunity of prov-
ing her power. She may not long be Miss
Banks."

" No," Grace answered very low.

A pause followed, broken by Grace's saying,
"I shall see her to-morrow. I go to Ford-
bridge to-morrow — I must not stay here; they
say I am invited to stay at the Sister's Home.
Have you heard of it at all ?"

" Yes," he answered drily ; " we walked by
it one evening."

" It is a sweet situation, and has a beautiful
garden. A very happy home for lonely people."

She tried hard to speak cheerfully, but felt
she had failed. Her voice fell in spite of her.

"And do you mean to make that your
home?"

He turned round as he spoke and struck the
ground with his cane in a nervous, fidgety way.

" I think so. It will be a comfortable one.
It is not a new thought either."

"So I understand. And you expect to be
happy there— you call it home ?"

" Why not ? what have I to expect or find
half so good ? Besides, I like the life and the

HOME TBI4JLS. 291

work, and always wished for it — only — circum-
stances were against me. And glad I am I did
not rush into it, or what should I do now ?"

She spoke as she felt, — earnestly.

" I suppose it is what you like — after your
taste ? You always were romantic — exalted I
should say — and very religious." He sighed,
then went on, " I suppose it is all right — I hope
so ! I am sure I do really hope you will find
yourself right and happy ; but it seems ....
Well, it is growing late. I am keeping you
out here. After all," he said rapidly, and hesi-
tating at each word, — "I came to say good-
bye I believe. I doubted — but then I thought
.perhaps you would forgive me — overlook it, and
though it is not very correct, and all that you
see —

"Indeed I should have been very sorry, if
you had not come to say" .... She cleared her
throat and began again. " But I hoped, I fan-
cied you came for something else. I began to
fancy lately — only lately-r-you were not quite
so angry perhaps — that — that — you might tell
— me — about yourself and . . . ."

Impossible to utter another syllable, a chok-
ing, stifling sob, resolutely subdued, and ending
in a gasp. A pain too sharp to bear quite

292 HOME TBIAIiS.

quietly about her heart. She felt as if she
must leave him ; but with great command over
herself, she managed to remain perfectly still,
breathing hard, but that was alL He was quite
still too, and silent. She even looked at him.
The clear twilight and moonshine showed his
face, grave and troubled ; not at all the face of
a happy lover. It was dark and uncertain, full
of suppressed agitation.

"Harry J" she said, her voice shaking and
quiveriag ; " we have known each other long-^-
I believe — I think we must always remember it
and be glad about one another. If you can
forgive me — let me hear of your prospects!
Tell me all! I shall be glad; indeed I shalL
If I think of you as happily married—it will-
it will be a load gone off my mind — make me
happier in my new home, you know."

"Thank you; I understand. When I can
oblige you in this respect— please you, I mean
— I will do so. It is not settled yet, though/'

" Indeed i not yet?"

" No," he said almost fiercely.

She felt frightened, and hoped «he had not
blundered and done mischief.

After a little time he said, " I had something
to say — that is I thought— I wished — but some-

•HOME TftlALS. 293

how I don't think you can understand me — you
bo misjudge me."

His face was flushed, and his voice had a
grieved sad tone.

"Grace! you think me very bad; for you
consider me a trifler now; your words and
thoughts of me show it. But I wished to say
— to tell you — how I had thought and felt since
— since that day. But for you, under the good
God, what should I have been now ? I wished
.... I didn't know for certain about your plan
of this Home," he said, in a different voice.
" I heard of it from Cecilia, to be sure ; but she
hoped it would not really be." He paused.
"Of course gentlemen are not admitted — at
least such as I am — so — so — I had better say

good-bye to you now — at once— only Is

money of any use there ? for the Home I mean
— I mean— would they take it from me — if —
they knew all P Or — would you, could you be
so good as to put it in your name?" and he
pushed a parcel into her hand. " I don't think
I've any right to offer it ; but it would be a
blessing — a comfort — "

" Tes, yes," interrupted Grace : "I will give
it through Mr. Grant."

" I say it now, because I shan't have time,"

oo2

294 HOME TBULXS.

he went on : " I shall only run down to see my
old father."

" Nothing else f"

"Nothing else? What else hare I to do
here? I don't know, I ate sure."

"In plain words, are y<ea not going to be
married and carry her— take her to Australia
with yon taowrP"

"Not that I know of : It seems not. I go as
I came,iseetningly. Why surely with yonr views
— yonr opinions — of me— you would hardly ap-
prove of any one trusting herself to me, or my
name ! I saw it directly in your eye— your very
turn of the head. ' He thinks himself reformed,'
you thought; 'why he is only lucky. He has
had no proof, no trial.' Tou scorned me (and
quite right too 1) in your heart !"

" O, Harry, how can you say so I how could
you think so ! How very angry you must be 1"
and the tears, long kept haok, burst out now.
She leant her head on her hands, and shook from
head to foot.

He sat down At the edge of the seat. He
leant his head also on his hands, and his elbows
on his knees. His fair hair fell over bis brow
heavily. He looked straight on the ground be-
fore him, angry, sorry, troubled and afraid.

HOME TBIALS. 295

" Well, don't fret About me.: I shall be all
right again. You have ohosem your place; no
doubt 'tis best so. You will be happy* happy
as you deserve. It is all what I deserve too,
every bit! You think me gay, and light, and
careless ; but I have suffered too, though not so
much, as I deserve, But what have I .done/?
Brute, fool, to come here to set you off so, after
all your work and trouble! Stop! do stop,
Grace i It kills me! I'll go : I seem bom to
be your bane ! I am going ; good-bye ! obly-*-
Grace, won't you pray for me, that I may be
IsBfpt up P Gob saved me from my own sinful
threats, and I liked to think it was owing to
your prayers ! God bless you ! God love you,
Grace !" He got up and took a step, then re-
turned and took her hand. " Grace, Grace ! for
Gob's sake try me! Can you P Oh, were we
not once solemnly pledged P I don't say (much
for myself; I know you scorn me still,; but J
am not what I was! I wish to foe igood!
'Tis 'No I' I see. Well then . . • ." and he
moved off again. " If you would but try me !
I think any very love for you would help to
make you happy! You I have always loved,
Grace!" he added tenderly, and -more in his
natural manner. Then he came up close to her,

296 HOME TBIALS.

and stooping put his arm round her neck, gently
raising her face to look at it. " Grace, try me,
try me ! I couldn't get the courage to ask you
— to even try to get at you, though Cecilia urged
me to, many times. I shouldn't have come home
so soon, hut for old father. Too soon I fear for
you to believe in me. But you think so badly
«of me ! and what can I say P I can't prove it.
Grace ! Grace ! is there no hope P"

She began to understand it all now. He
loved her still : he wanted her to love him. She
had ceased crying, and now she looked search-
ingly into his face. Very pale it was, and the
• moonlight made it more so. His arm gently
drew her, and she yielded. Her head rested on
his shoulder : he kissed her fondly, grasping her
hand tightly and firmly.

" Have you forgiven me then ?" she said.

" Forgiven you ! Wern't they true words ?

And didn't they send me straight into another

. path P I was wounded, angry, perhaps ; but it

-opened my eyes. I knew you, Grace ; I knew

iyou had loved me ; I knew how good you were,

without any nonsense, always good. It shocked

. me when it came to that. Not that I ever was

quite what they made me out. But there was a

» foundation for their facts. It wasn't worth di-

HOMB TBIALS. 297

viding false from true. I went away as if I
was shot. God opened a path for me : thiijgs
were made easy. But I won't boast : ask John ;
or rather try and prove me yourself. Grace, if
you will take me and trust me, you will see ! If
not now, say a time ; I will try to bear it pa-
tiently as my punishment. In a year, or* more
if you like !" he sighed, and looked so sadly, yet
so brave. " You will see ! — I can't say more :
promises are of no use. O, Grace, you do love
and forgive me ; I see it in your dear face. I will
never forget it : never, never forget this hour !"
He pressed her to him again and again. Most
earnest, most tender was his love.

She was still confused, frightened and yet
very happy. They went in; he said it was
chilly for her. They sat in the empty, bare
room ; one on a trunk, the other on a stool.
The servant brought in a light, and said she
would get some supper on the kitchen table if
they would please to excuse it. And then while
she prepared the meal, they went over the past,
explaining their misunderstandings and fears.
Harry had returned with the secret hope, which
vanished almost into nothing as he came to
England ; and when he first saw her — her fixed,
rigid, set look, that day at Eordhridge, he felt

298 HOME TBIAL8.

he knew his fate. She had pleasure now in tell-
ing him what she had felt that very day, and again
at the pic-nic. He had let her go, feeling that
she disliked his touch; while she, poor girl,
was trembling all over, and almost ready to say,
-" Harry, I love you still !" She told him how
soon the notion had risen about Cecilia, and he
in return said he had been desperately jealous of
•every body, till Cecilia, like a true-hearted, frank
girl, encouraged him to speak out about Grace.
He went to seek her to hear all about Grace
and her trials at home. He heard of the scheme
of going to the Home, and dreaded lest her
inclination should lead her to go there, and that
she even considered it a duty to which she had
bound herself.

" I soon however saw that Mrs. Marks wanted
-you for a Sister, and Cecilia as wife for that
young brother of hers, whose return home she
is always speaking of, and whom she praises up
so much. What, you are surprised ! Did you
never guess this P Fancy your blindness !"

" I was so sure it was you always, I thought
you must take to her."

" No indeed ! I always have been faithful to
you, for years and years. You know how I
always loved you and admired you ; and when

HOME TBIiXS. 299

I beard of you as bearing so mucb, so quietly
and uncomplaining — poor little meek, patient
soul ! — I could have, many a time, caugbt you
up and sworn to thrash any one who looked
even cross at you ! It went to my heart to see
you look so patient and smile. I knew you
liked my singing; you always did; so I sang
when I was asked. I knew you beard, though
upstairs, that night when you cried; I knew
it was the song whicb overset you, but I didn't
think it showed any care for me. I believed
you were sorry, and pitied me as a lost and
unworthy wretch, and so wept over me and old
times."

There was no end to his confessions. He
talked on and she listened, seldom speaking
herself; she had so little to say — nothing, but
to repeat the same words. "I always loved
you. I believed only too readily in your doing
better, But I never dared, never allowed my-
self to hope you would think of me, or even
forgive me. It is too much — too happy — I
can't make it out."

It was late before they parted ; and the next
day he was to drive her himself to Fordbridge.
He agreed she might spend a few days if she
liked at the Home, while he was forced to be

300 HOME TBIALS.

in London. But after that she was to be at her
Aunt Cissy's. Aunt Cissy had given her con-
sent to him, and wished him well on his errand,
and hoped Grace would receive him. Though
she was to go away so far, she was sure Grace
would be really happy as his wife. * What do
you say to that, madam ?** Harry's spirits were
all come back again, and somehow, he made the
parting from the old home not a very Borrowful
affair after all. He had so many kind and lov-
ing things to say, and such a funny way of say-
ing them too, that before she knew what she
was about, she was driving down the narrow
lane.

They made a long round of it ; Harry en-
joying the scenery of his old home that day.
He asked if she could be ready to sail with him
in a month. He would give up his passage
by the ship sailing in a fortnight, and would
take cabins in the one advertised fbr a month
and a few days. Quick work, but an outfit
was easily got if one knew how to set about it.
He had some experience, and had picked up
some hints from his Australian friends.

Grace made no objections or difficulties, but
said she must consult her friends first. In her
aunt's room, amid a buzz of voices, exclaiming

HOME TEIALS. 301

and settling and arranging, she said, "Do as
yon like;" "Settle it as you please;" "I am
ready ;" and she looked both ready and content.
To see her soft eyes rest on Harry, who with
his impetuous eager way returned now, made
them all laugh, was to feel that she trusted him.
Her aunt, who was taking quiet observations,
saw the look, and so did Cecilia. Harry too,
chanced to turn in the very middle of some im-
portant thing he was settling off hand, with the
managing head, namely, Aunt Cissy, his eyes
met hem, and directly his own became soft and
dim. He stooped down, speaking low, as if to a
tender child, appealing to her to vote with him ;
hot Aunt Sarah observed, that afterwards, Har-
ry's voice took a quieter tone. All his winning
qualities took her mother's heart. She loved
him for his great reverent tenderness, expressed
in every look and word. A glance at Grace
subdued his vehemence or checked a hasty word,
though she did not even mean it or observe it
in him.

They would not let her go to the Home that
day. They kept ail together, and let her go on
the morrow, after seeing Harry off for London
in the coach.

The next day during their walk, Grace en-

DD

802 HOME TRIALS.

lightened her friends Mr. Grant and Mrs.
Marks, as to the cause of her happy looks.
The surprise was too great for poor Mrs. Marks
to quite hide it. Such a disappointment as it
was, to find it was not owing to the prospect of
finding work and a home in her favourite spot.
" O, Grace ! Well, well ! I thought you would
do something more — better than that. Ah ! —
yet, my dear, I do hope you will be happy. I
hope you have chosen wisely. After all, mar-
riage is of course a divine ordinance ; yet there
must be some for whom such blessed Homes and
such work is intended."

" They are for those," said Mr. Grant, who
had previously, during his sister's harangue,
pressed Grace's hand in token of his good
wishes; "They are for those who have eyes
and courage to see and to do the work what-
ever it may be, which lies directly before them.
To such — to many among them, this work is af-
terwards given. Not those who merely seize
upon it as a new idea, and spend on it that
enthusiasm and energy which is roused by ex-
citement, but fails for ordinary purposes, at
least not without strict self-examination and
proving. There will be found enough, when
once the necessity of it is received into hearts,

H01OB TBIALS. 303

for this work and life, without ever infringing
<on other duties. All those who have its pro-
motion at heart, should hejearnest in keeping
the balance poised. We shall do great damage
to the cause, if we allow it to take an undue
place. There are many, many ways of serving
God. Besides Grace was engaged once.

" Yes," murmured Grace softly, " they also
serve who only stand and wait."

CHAPTER XXX

Gbaob had only been two days in the quiet
Home. Very strange it had seemed to her,
finding herself among them, hearing their cheer-
ful conversation, and seeing the quantity of
work they did so quietly and so simply. To
her great surprise Harry returned from Town;
and at once walked to the Home. No, he
•owned his business was not done. He had
only seen the cabins he thought would do, and
must write to secure them. Besides, why should
he be miserable in London all alone ? A week
would do all he had to do, and they might

604 HOME TBIiXS.

go there together at the last. He wee ee
earnest in his pleading, and brought forward
eo many good end pleasant reasons to support
him, that Grace could only agree, and making
her excuses to the good ^Sisters, she shortened
her visit, only promising to come back and wish
them good-bye* Harry carried her off in triumph,
and they made a long round of it, strolling and
lingering about in the fields.

" One thing, Grace, I want to say, only I am
such a rattle-pate, and can never find words/ 1
Harry observed. "But never blame yourself
for the part you took. If only women had that
sort of courage oftener, they might do a great
deal to save fellows from reckless ruin. I knew
so well the pain it was to you: that it was
solely because you hated sin and loved the good.
It struck me in a new way. Not ait the very
moment bat afterwards. If it is so very bad
that a loving, faithful good girl will break liar
own heart to have nothing to do with it, it
must be a serious thing ; it taust be real sin.
If you had hung on* remonstrating and beta*-
ing, and so on, I should probably have gone on
in a half-and-half sort of way, putting it all down
to pluck and spirit, and a harmless kind of thing

k

HOME TBUXS* 805

which women and old people were bound to
scold at* I believe I should have gome on from
bad to worse. Your decided act was like a
sudden shot. It brought me to my senses, and
after the first excitement and anger passed off,
I opened my eyes, and I respected you ten
times more, even though I believed all was done
between us, and that you would never look at
me again. I kept you in my heart. By de-
grees I began to think, ns I lived better, ' Grace
would like this; she would be pleased.'— So
you see, you were quite right."

"I have doubted it much, Harry; I have
Buffered great pain, fearing your threats."

" But you don't suffer now P You will like

going to Australia ?"

u I don't mind where I go with you."
• • • • •

" Why can't people go to Church and get
married quietly any day without such a fuss
and preparation?" Harry asked, when Aunt
Cissy demurred at the early day he named.

"I suppose you wish Grace to be dressed as
a bride for one tiling.; and you will like to see
your friends at breakfast for another P"

"I don't care in the least what dress she

306 HOME TBIAL8.

wears ; and don't we breakfast every day P Put
it all together and that will do. As to fuss and
speeches, I shall be inclined to run away if you
try that game.*'

So a very quiet breakfast, at which only re*
lations came, was ordered ; and Harry had his
way as to the day. The time slipped away only
too fast. Grace drove with Harry one day to
Heathercombe. She was to see Mr. Yane, her
step-mother, and Miss Lee. The last visit was
amusing. Poor Miss Patty could not, even to
please Harry, hide a little anger and disdain,
nor a good deal of satisfaction and triumph.
But she came round before they left, and
brought out her wedding gift, which was a
handsome but old-fashioned tea service in silver*
Harry said it would tempt the Bushrangers, but
Grace admired and thanked for both.

And now there remains little more to be said.
Grace had her troubles and trials. She would
have them still no doubt. But in her new life,
in a strange land she was loved as she loved.
They found John already married, and settled
near their own place. Robert did well after many
reverses and wandering over the earth. In after
years he returned and settled down as a wealthy
man at Heathercombe. With him his three

HOME TB1ALS. 807

younger sisters found a home, for he never mar-
ried.

Mrs. Bracy lived to be an old woman in Miss
Stafford's house ; but she never took Miss Staf-
ford's place. Of Judith nothing was heard for
years. At last a notice, cut out of a news-
paper, was sent by some person unknown, to
Mrs. Vane in Australia. It was an account of
a miserable suicide, committed by a woman, in
whose pocket were found papers which led the
authorities to believe her namewas Judith Bracy.
They also discovered the clue to the Vanes'
direction.

One great happiness was granted to Grace.
She with her husband, and some of the Banks
family attended Service, and received the Holy
Communion at the Home, the very day before
they left for London. Perhaps that was the
happiest moment of her life, for Harry then
offered his gift at the altar — a sum sufficient
to cover the expense of the new wing they so
much wished to build, which was to be devoted
to penitents. Harry's manner, and his few
simple words to Mr. Grant, hoping it might be
permitted him to offer this as a thank-offering
on occasion of his marriage, and as a slight
outward token of his own penitence, sent Grace

308 homs niAXS.

to her own chamber on her return home, to
thank God with a full heart.

" Be atraof in faith, bid annoa* thovahta tie ftffl ;
Seek for the good and cheriah it— the 01
Oppoee, or bear with a fnbnuaBTe will.'

p»

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